Clockwork Negativity
by CeciACelosia
Summary: Morgana's madness is deep in her bones, and she fully intends the man-servant tied to the chair before her to feel her pain. Sometimes, people need more than just 'saving'. Sometimes, it's just what they need. Merlin is completely at Morgana's mercy, to be subject to a fate worse than death. For once it seems Morgana has won - but is that enough? Warning for whump/violence
1. Chapter 1

'_Have you ever felt anything like it, I wonder? Hatred so strong it could rip a house from its foundations; pure unbridled fury so bright that blindness is undoubtedly the least you could desire, all let loose like an infection from the very roots your heart. Drowning in your own damning negativity, until all you can dream about is squeezing the very life from anyone who dares to even look at you with so much as a twitch of their lips, and even that is not enough. All you can hope for is satisfaction. All you can think of is indecipherable spite. You're going to feel the brunt of my hatred, slowly. Agonisingly. Surely. And... I might be a little sorry.'_

Morgana Pendragon, daughter of the deceased Uther Pendragon and half-sister of the King Arthur Pendragon, is the embodiment of '_negativity'_. She feels it all even now, and it's the messiest handful of emotions she ever remembers feeling. Old emotions; happiness, worry, love... They're all misshapen and odd. She can't exactly miss them, because she can't properly recall them. Instead, when she thinks of the words, a string of _other_ words come up.

Betrayal. Loathing. Fear.

Why it's all come to this, only the Gods know. They know why she stands in a dimly-lit windowless room, wearing a shapeless soft black robe with no shoes and her hair in knots. They're aware as to why she screams in her sleep. They see how she's become faded and haunted.

A single candle flickers by some blankets on the floor in the corner, surrounded by straw. The flame is hovering a little, as not to set fire to anything. The walls are stone, looming and old. The door is wooden and thick – shut tight.

And in the centre of the room, right in front of Morgana Pendragon, is a chair. It's not the chair that's of interest, though; it's the one manservant by the name of Merlin, who is currently tied to it, that is. His head is limp, forehead slick with sweat, his hair sticking to the skin. A fresh bruise is reaching from beyond his hairline to under his left eye, a trickle of dried blood shed from a split lip and his hands are tied behind the back of his chair. The rope used is the same Morgana nearly always uses – thick, resistant to attacks of any variety, and enchanted to tighten at her command. A favourite, to be sure.

The man is just about to wake up – Morgana is sure of this. Snow is cold, stone is solid, Merlin is about to open his eyes. Morgana finds herself 'knowing' a lot of things lately. Taken for information, she had told herself, but now she can't even remember what she wanted to know.

She's decided instead she's quite happy to learn what makes the man scream loudest.

Sure enough, a long whimper emerges from Merlin's lips, and for a brief surprising moment, Morgana remembers the word 'worry'. No emotion to partner the letters, just the mere word as she observes at the man groggily opening his eyes.

Adjusting to the dim light, his head moves to look left and right. The confusion and fear he emits are almost tangible to the woman who knows the feelings far too well, as is the hate that overtakes his gaze as the man rests eyes on her.

"_Morgana_."

She wonders when, exactly, her name became a curse. Exactly which action performed had earned such hatred. Far too many to recall – nowhere near enough time. She feels her dry lips sting as a cruel smile pulls across her cheeks.

"Merlin. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Merlin tugs at his ropes a little.

"What is this? Untie me!"

He's becoming more frantic, and Morgana finds herself laughing as she watches the long-limbed man pull uselessly at his bindings.

Why it's funny exactly, she forgets quickly. The laughter from her lips quickly feels like an extension of her own hate – no actual joy within. There never is.

"Hush down, silly boy," she chuckles, eyes cold.

"Why am I here?! You won't get anything from me, Morgana!"

Morgana feels the strange urge to roll her eyes as she looks down on the man. All loyal men are always the same. Like broken soldiers – have they no minds of their own?

Given an hour, Morgana calculates, and the boy won't even remember his own name anyway. Morgana finds the loyalty Merlin offers to _Arthur_ of a disgusting variety as it is, and how anyone can bow at his feet is beyond a mystery to her.

"Oh Merlin, how I wish you weren't so _blind_," Morgana hums, her voice like ice even to her own ears.

The man looks defiant; incredulous even.

"Wh –"

"_Ht'nth_!"

Merlin's head is yanked backwards, as if his hair has been pulled by an invisible force, at the word bled from Morgana's lips. She doesn't want to hear much of anything from Merlin's lips right now, she's decided. He's forced to look at the ceiling as his limps pull taunt against the ropes in desperate means of escape.

"Morgana!"

"I've found," Morgana starts, as simply as she would discuss the weather, "that pain is especially fun to extract when one cannot see when or where they should expect it."

Merlin says something very quietly, for which Morgana doesn't properly hear. She doesn't care enough to ask for a repetition, instead seeing a chance for instilling more fear. His head should be hurting, his limbs sore, and his neck stiff already. He'll be wishing it stayed this way soon.

"Do not force me to sew your mouth shut, Merlin. Though, it may be an idea for later," Morgana deadpans. Merlin stiffens slightly, unable to initiate eye-contact with his neck still forced in its uncomfortable position.

"What kind of ropes are these?" Merlin mutters, ignoring the warning. The tones akin to hysteria lace his voice. Morgana is almost a little surprised at the question; it seems a tad trivial right now

"If you must know, they're enchanted. Not even the most powerful sorcerer could escape them, so _you_, little servant, have no chance under these stars."

Merlin seems to deflate a little, but Morgana doesn't take much note. She's already spilling the words to her next spell, one which is quick to flood her veins. With a handful of words and a flick of her left index finger, she steps around and behind Merlin, close, and hovers over him, making full eye-contact as she looks down on the man.

"Aren't I nice? You can see me now," Morgana says. Merlin's own stare is hard and full of hate. Morgana revels in the sight for a short moment, before reaching down to Merlin's bound arms, feeling for his right hand. He can only squeeze his hand shut fast and hard as Morgana cups it in her own, and he's soon completely unable to see what Morgana is doing as she ducks down behind him.

"You've lovely hands," Morgana comments, looking up to see the back of Merlin's head. The spell circulates within her body with the extra strength it granted, and she takes her time as she circles Merlin's knuckles with a single cracked nail. "Shame to keep them scrunched up like this. Yo should relax."

Merlin does no such thing, and Morgana waits, expecting to become recipient to a shower of begging and demands.

"I can promise you Morgana, you're going to _regret_ this."

The strength and sheer belief Merlin exudes within his own wording makes Morgana shiver for just a moment.

It doesn't stop her from forcing Merlin's hand open, hardly using any of her new strength, and tearing out his thumbnail whole, akin to a snake striking a mouse.

oOo_oOo

Jam: Thanks if you read this :) I'm unsure whether or not to continue, and thus would love your input.


	2. Chapter 2

Two minutes, one thumbnail and three fingernails later, Merlin feels like he's swimming in thick metallic air. He's tried not to cry out – Gods, how he's tried – but Morgana is swift and merciless as well as silent, and the pain is finally setting in after the blissful shock. His neck is aching from the force keeping his gaze on the dank ceiling and his fingers are in agony; torn skin and exposed nerves on all but his little finger causing tears to spring to his eyes. But worst of all, as Morgana creeps her fingers along his un-abused finger, is the sheer shame he feels at the fear building up in his chest.

Even so, he will _not_ wish in vain to be saved. Not beg for mercy. Not, even if he wants to more than he would ever admit, call _his_ name. This is Merlin's own problem, and Morgana _will_ pay.

The sudden, sharp yank followed by nauseating pain that slowly blends in with the screaming symphony evenly spread over his entire hand snaps him from his thoughts with such force that he cannot help the screech of pain. Morgana is suddenly back in front of him, leaning over so he can see her vicious gaze, and five small items Merlin tries not to think about shower his face. One sharp nail catches on his chapped lower lip, forcing him to grab it between his teeth and spit it to the floor. Finally, the woman speaks.

"Your fingers look even more lovely covered in crimson," Morgana remarks, a certain airiness to her voice.

"Why the hell are you doing this?" Merlin spits, pulling against the force holding his head in a desperate attempt to alleviate the painful discomfort in his neck and to glare at his captor. His attempt is for naught, forcing him to save his energy and forget the endeavour.

Morgana does not reply right away, and Merlin realizes he has clenched his right hand without meaning to as a warm liquid escaped the gaps between his throbbing fingers. He's glad he can't see his hands, as they remain bound behind his back; behind his chair. His attention is quickly then drawn back to Morgana as she speaks up.

"Because it helps me feel something other than _nothing_."

The light yet unmistakable tone of despair is companion to Morgana's ice-cold tone, and Merlin feels thrown off his feet as the memories of the Morgana he once thought he knew tinges his mind. It scares him more than the remorseless voice he's learned to hate, because maybe, just maybe, there has been something to _save_ within this turned woman all along.

Fingers suddenly tangle in his lank hair, brutally dragging his stiff neck from it's locked position so Merlin can look at Morgana. He again cannot help the strangled cry that scrapes his tongue. No smile graces her lips, no playful light resides in her eyes; and for Merlin as he looks into the two orbs mere inches away from his own, he panics as he recognizes that he feels more sorrow than fear now. Short, quick pants escape his lips as light-headedness sways his vision, the shock of sudden movement forced upon his neck too much, and before he can utter a word the world goes black.

"Ah, he's out," are the last words Merlin hears, and he almost has the time to be relieved at the hard uncaring tone back in Morgana's voice.

_Almost_.

_**oOo_oOo**_

Morgana watches as Merlin's head lulls, remarking dryly the obvious despite the fact he probably cannot hear her. In honesty, she should have expected he would pass out, and before she can question herself she steps forwards and cups Merlin's chin in one hand. She studies his dirty blood-encrusted face with a frown as his ragged breaths brush gently against her fingers, and that word comes out from nowhere yet again. _Worry_ – she must have felt it for Merlin once before, she knows this for sure. Now it's like an itch deep underneath her skin as she tries to recall the emotion - what does that word feel like again, when directed towards another person?

Just a servant. Just some horribly loyal and disturbingly blind _serving boy_ to a foolish and arrogant King. Nothing practical is coming from this session at all, Morgana decides, stepping back from the limp man before her. She didn't even receive any pleasure as she let the Merlin's nails fall against his cheeks and tumble to the floor, his defiant yet fear-tinged expression burnt into her mind even now. She can't help but remember those days where she could recall _happiness_, recall people she foolishly thought of as friends, recall the unspoken childish desire to save the world and recall the promise she once could feel emanate so strongly from the man she thought as a brother, and unease begins to hit _hard_.

Perhaps this 'session' needs to end sooner than she had planned, Morgana thinks, closing off her vague memories before they can get stronger, and more importantly, before the image of a certain mild-mannered and awfully _caring_ maid-servant-turned-Queen can flicker fourth.

Forgetting is so much easier. It would be better to get information from someone else, and to dispose of the man before her now. Just a flick of her wrist, and his neck will break. A muttered word and his heart would explode in his chest. A soft breeze could be made to choke him, the ropes binding him could burn, the skin across his belly could split...

Morgana lifts her hand towards the servant, chosen spell on her lips. A couple of seconds is all it'll take. Then Morgana can steal away someone who _doesn't_ invoke memories, doesn't make her forget her intentions...

_"Maybe ... you c...an be... saved."_

The words drip slowly from the unconscious man's lips like poison, and Morgana's eyes widen as her arm falls useless to her side. Horror? Is that the correct word, because it certainly feels like it's building in her chest; in her heart. _Save_? What on earth is there to save, when all she can recognize is malformed and gut-wrenching hatred?

Something in Morgana's heart, something Morgana didn't even know she still owned, _snaps_.

Magic forgotten, Morgana strikes the back of her hand against Merlin's cheek, the spell still fuelling her strength and thus easily forcing him from his unconscious state.

He cries out through a groggy confused mindset, eyes finally focusing on Morgana. Is he even aware of what he said?

"How can you _save_ someone who has already saved herself?!" Morgana demands, her voice strained as panic and fear and anger hit her at all once in a multitude of strengths.

Merlin, still confused, pulls yet again at his bindings as Morgana stands far too close for his own comfort.

"I am free, I know I am saved and I will save every single one of my kind, no matter how hopeless the action seems!" she continues, her voice now a desperate shout. Merlin sags a little against his restraints, tired and hurting, using all his strength to harden his gaze and work his own sore vocal chords.

"No exceptions, huh? How ironic," he croaks, no humour to his words. Rationality evades him, as all he can see now is either a slow painful end, or a quick and rage-filled one. His pain seems to be deciding the latter for him, as a scowl paints Morgana's face.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she growls, voice dangerously low. Merlin suddenly feels incredibly stupid, because despite death staring him in the face, he remembers that he really doesn't actually want to die. Seeing the man's lips refuse to move, Morgana darts forward and locks her hands firmly around Merlin's neck, slowly but surely tightening her grip around his trachea.

Merlin thrashes against the rope, the desperate desire to survive kicking in as the woman's grip tightens.

"S... top!"

"Care to explain then? Go on, tell me how I've already failed in my mission. Go _on_!" Morgana demands, fingers digging harshly into flesh with every word.

Merlin's vision begins to darken again, as desperation makes him eat his words and wish, harder than he's ever wished before because he feels so damn _helpless_, to be saved. So he says the most painful words he's ever had to spit out.

_"Ma... gic! Me... too! I've... Magic!"_

The pressure falls away. Morgana stumbles backwards, an indescribable expression on her skin as her own movements become jerky and unstable – as if she's suddenly been forced into someone else's skin . Merlin chokes, gasping and heaving as tears run unnoticed down his cheeks and a lone desperate cry rattles from his lungs. But it's like Morgana is in a bubble. She hears nothing, sees nothing – only remembers, Merlin's words running rampant around her head like uncontrollable vermin and she learns at that very moment that _yes_; betrayal can still rip apart the woman who trusts nobody.

**oOo_oOo**

Jam: I'm happy some of you decided to follow my story, so thankyou! I would adore actual feedback, genuinely, so please please leave your thoughts :) Arthur and Gwen will be in this story, as I want to focus on some bromance and Merlin is a little rubbish at escaping. And at NOT antagonising Morgana. Let's hope he doesn't get killed D:

As a note, I'll edit through the fic entirely once finished.


	3. Chapter 3

Morgana is gone. She left without a word, her footsteps smooth as if floating, complete with that lost and disturbingly _broken_ look in her eyes. No persuasion was needed, Merlin's confession simply made too much sense and they both knew it.

Merlin, sitting alone in the dimly lit room, cannot even scramble together the strength to lift his head. The spell forcing him to look at the ceiling has not been recast, thankfully, so the battered man sits limp against his bindings as his thoughts idly pass him by.

His magic feels numb, reminiscent of sitting on a limb too long, and he's giving up on trying to call upon it again. Pain scratches and screams at injuries both new and old, and it's all he can do to focus on his breathing. In, out, in... each intake of air is sheer agony, his windpipe feeling well and truly crushed, and he knows that Morgana _will_ be back wanting answers. His head hurts. His neck aches. Even _thinking_ about the state of his hand makes him want to wretch and vomit.

He's scared.

_He's fucking terrified._

He wants his friends.

_He wants Arthur._

_oOo_oOo_

"This way, I'm sure of it!"

"Sure of it, are you? Because this, and _feel free to prove me wrong_, looks _exactly_ like the tree we passed five damn minutes ago!"

"How the hell would you know that? No, it's _definitely_ this way - These are his footprints you blind oaf!"

"Well, that's fantastic. I'm going to go _that_ way, and you can go get sodding lost following deer tracks on your own. This is a search-and-rescue mission, not 'Gwaine's misadventures in being a moron.'"

Gwen, who has been on standby through the seventh argument between the two men that hour, groans loudly before striding forwards and clipping her argumentative husband's head with a little more force than necessary.

"Ow! What on earth was that for?" Arthur demands, as Gwaine tries (badly) to suppress a snigger. Gwen shows no remorse, only raising an eyebrow.

"You're right Arthur, this is a rescue mission," she says airily, and Gods has she never looked so regal in her careful suppression of emotion. "That means we do in fact need to actually get on with the rescuing. Merlin... Merlin could be in trouble. What if something happens to him whilst you two are bickering? Then, I suppose, it would be _**your **_entire fault. I doubt he'd ever forgive you, actually."

Gwen keeps her expression neutral as the statement hangs in the air like a foul odour. Gwaine's grin has dropped, both men sobering up surprisingly quickly. Arthur keeps his expression stern, but Gwen is fully aware how much Merlin means to him - to all of them, and thus the words would, and do, make a difference.

"Right," Gwaine decides. "Obviously, this is going to require more people than we thought. I vote I head back to the castle and gather as many free hands as I can, while you keep looking. It's almost mid-afternoon as it is, and I'd prefer to find Merlin _today_."

Arthur mulls it over a moment, before nodding briskly.

"Fine. But, take Gwen back with you."

"Not a chance in Camelot," Gwen interjects forcefully. "_I am looking for Merlin_, and that's the end of it."

And that quite literally was the end of it. Arthur groans quietly as Gwen folds her arms, and Gwaine cracks a small grin at her before turning to Arthur.

"That's our Queenie. She'll keep you safe Princess, of that I'm sure," Gwaine winks with a mockery of a thumbs-up. Before Arthur can respond, preferably with his hands around Gwaine's neck, the knight is heading towards his waiting horse.

"I'll bring the whole of Camelot out to look for him if I can!" he calls, mounting the wiry animal.

"You will not! There's going to be no-one left to look after the damn place!" Arthur scolds, but like that Gwaine is gone, yelling back his bit of 'definitely not being able to hear that whiney princess.' Arthur sighs, before turning to look at Gwen.

"Are... You sure you want to keep looking? You could head back - I'm sure we'll find him asleep under a bush or something, to be honest, and Camelot does actually need someone to keep her in check."

Gwen narrows her eyes. "Arthur, you don't truly believe that. You've seen the letter he left in his chambers, and I know that handwriting just as well as you do. Every sign points to her taking Merlin away, we can't deny it," she says, brushing a strand of hair from in front of Arthur's eye to behind his left ear. In response, Arthur steps forward stiffly, looking over the woman before him with a searching look before signing and jerkily resting his head on Gwen's shoulder.

"What the hell does she want with him," he whispers, finally letting everything building up since Merlin's disappearance loose. "This... is all my fault."

Gwen tangles her hand in Arthur's hair, softly comforting the man she knows to barricade his feelings off far too often, before gently pushing Arthur's shoulders in order to look him in the eye.

"It _isn't_ your fault Arthur, but we aren't going to find him by doing nothing," she states firmly, a tired yet determined smile flickering on her face. "Now, come. We'll find Merlin, bring him home to Gaius, and we'll hold a big but _cost-effective_ feast. Of course, we won't say it's just for Merlin - But don't you think it's high time we celebrate, let's say, the castle's new windows?"

Arthur looks stunned at Gwen as she heads toward her own horse, before letting his expression melt gradually into something warmer. He can do this – Merlin **will** be fine. Absolutely fine, the idiot probably _had_ actually gotten lost. Perhaps he actually _is_ sleeping under a bush, planning on finding his way back after a quick nap. The man can be quite strange at the most bizarre of times. The thought makes Arthur smile a little.

"And anyway," Gwen starts, interrupting Arthur's thoughts as he heads towards the last horse. "I left George in charge. I think he'll do a good job."

Arthur pauses, paling dramatically.

"You're joking."

Gwen says nothing, already beginning to trot down the path Gwaine had argued for.

"Gwen? You're joking? Right? ... Right?!"

_oOo_oOo_

Merlin only realizes he'd fallen asleep when Morgana throws a bucket of ice-cold water over him.

He gasps and chokes, spitting water from his mouth before the shivers begin setting in. Was it even possible for water to be that cold? No way was it not tampered with - and it only seems to be getting colder as Merlin's soaked clothes stick heavily to his skin.

While he hisses at the wounds the water hit, Morgana drops the empty bucket on the floor.

"Merlin," she starts. Her tone is final, damning, and at the most terrifying Merlin has ever heard it.

"If you dare a word to slip out your mouth," Morgana continues, "I will wrench open your mouth until your jaw _snaps_, and tear out your tongue. Feel free to try me."

Merlin bits his lip past bleeding point, wincing at both Morgana's words and the pain that's coming back to meet him throughout his body. He nods once.

"Good. So, on to the subject at hand. Every time you _'disappeared'_, each time you came back miraculously unharmed from one of _Arthur's_ hunts, each time someone you cared for got in a mess, **you** practiced magic. You, under the entire of Camelot's nose, practice magic?"

Merlin doesn't nod this time, doesn't even lift his head, but that seems enough a confession for Morgana. She spits out a long, wiry laugh.

"You, little manservant Merlin! You condemned all magic but your very own, standing alongside our current imbecilic King?! Alongside Uther?! And not once, not _once_, did you tell me? Inform me? While I was... Was..." Morgana shakes her head, a new hardness coming over her eyes as Merlin forces himself to look up, a thick nausea brewing in his stomach.

"Uther was a vile murdering bastard. His son, no better. But you? You had a chance to stop them both. Men, women, children - all strung up, burned, hung, drowned, starved, killed, and you... You didn't lift a damn finger! Not one!"

Merlin shifts uncomfortably at Morgana's rage, each word hitting like an arrow, well in the knowledge that there isn't a lot he could say to quell her anger. It doesn't stop him from trying.

"I..."

_"DON'T YOU SPEAK TO ME!"_

Merlin is shocked into silence, his breathing quickening as Morgana steps up to the manservant with fire in her eyes.

"I think," she says quietly, and it's so painfully obvious to see the betrayal in her eyes, "that you may be the most vile and putrid thing I have ever set eyes upon, Merlin. And," she continues, trailing a fingernail down Merlin's cheek, "I think that it's my job to make sure you pay proper _retribution_ for your sins."

Merlin flinches against his bindings, expecting some form of blow or dismemberment (the former looks far, far more bearable to the man) but instead Morgana steps backwards, determination and hatred branded in her glare, before muttering something short and sharp and strangely sickly that Merlin simply cannot make out as an uncomfortable yet brief pressure builds around his entire chest. It's gone before he can think into it, and like that, Morgana disappears. No smoke, no explosion... just _gone_.

Merlin really, really doesn't want to be here for her return, to find out what she has planned. Despite the hope, as he wriggles weakly against his bindings, he genuinely doesn't expect the ropes to fall to the floor, leaving him completely free.

_Oh_.

Merlin's eyes widen as he looks at the limp rope around his feet, before cautiously looking around the room. Morgana is still nowhere in sight. Suspicion doesn't even come close to what Merlin is feeling – why on earth have the ropes fallen away?

Sucking in a long breath, Merlin decides now isn't the time for questions. He can only hope that Morgana's rage has made her careless.

He gently pushes himself up... only to note all his pain has gone. In fact, he feels fully rested and wonderfully _warm_, as if the water had never hit him. Like there's a hearth in his chest. But the feeling although light makes Merlin feel uneasy. Frowning, Merlin gets to his feet with ease and takes a step forward. He slowly lifts his hands in front of his face... They're both completely unharmed. No trace of blood, and only the memory of pain on his right hand. It's the same for the rest of his body – not a traceable scratch or bruise anywhere at all.

Merlin shudders, his confusion beginning to tower over his head. None-the-less, he makes a beeline for the door, yanking harshly at the handle.

Nothing.

"What the...?"

Merlin lets his magic come forth, eyes flashing gold... but as soon as it begins to leave his skin it becomes a tangible black ooze and drips to the floor.

Merlin yelps and jumps back from the puddle. The familiar fear is building in his chest again, but he'll be damned if he'll let it take him over. He can do this – the spell just went a little wrong is all.

The excuse becomes sour after the fifth time Merlin tries. The ooze disappears a minute or so after hitting the floor each and every time, and Merlin just cannot figure out why. He can feel his magic, it's _there_, but it just... won't work.

Frustrated, Merlin turns around, ready to find himself another exit. But then, he sees _it_.

He pauses, confused because he must be seeing things, but no. He pales, and steps backwards until his back bumps against the door. His breathing explodes into panic as he sets eyes upon a figure, sitting in the middle of the room, on a disgustingly _bloody_ and wet old chair.

Merlin looks upon a broken version of himself. And it _is_ him; every single injury is there, blood steadily dripping in a puddle behind the chair and around the free rope, presumably from his hand, and nasty marks spread across his forehead, a lot of his face encrusted in dried dirt and blood.

But, as Merlin dares a step forward and observes his slumped and shadowed form closer, it's eyes (not his – this broken and still thing _can't_ be him) are closed, he can't detect a single thing from the man with his face (Oh Gods, what is going on?!)

Most strangely, Merlin forces himself to note, is a yellow flower that buds through the shirt of his unconscious (not dead, he can't be dead, there's no way in hell he's _dead_) body, and Merlin's conscious form is struggling to comprehend just what in the world is going on. The nausea he feels now is like nothing he's ever felt before. This can't be happening... It can't be!

No matter how he looks at it, is isn't good. It really, really isn't.

**OoOo-oOoO**

_Jam: Hope this isn't too confusing, and as a note, this will not be a character-death fic (though it certainly looks so D: ) thank you so much for your support, and your comments mean the world to me :) If you want a personal thankyou, just say so, 'cause I always feel awkward sending out emails otherwise D: (It's really no problem mind) Also, I will be trying to make longer chapters as requested!_


	4. Chapter 4

Merlin has turned back to the door, refusing to look at his body sitting limp in that damned chair. He has no clue how long he's been in this place – surely Arthur must be questioning where he is by now? The word panic just doesn't seem to provide his building 'feelings' justice, and now he's throwing everything he has at the door blocking his way to freedom – smashing his fists on the solid material and yanking uselessly at the handle as he forces his magic out over and over again; a feat that only results in that same sludge from before slipping from his skin and onto on the door and around his feet. After a while, it's even beginning to drip from the corners of his mouth, eyes and the inside of his ears – the very concept makes him want to vomit. His hands don't hurt despite the amount of abuse he puts them through, instead feeling an almost _disgusting_ numbness only reminiscent of pain curl around his knuckles and up his fingers.

After an age of what seems like torture, throwing his everything at an immovable object, Merlin collapses to the floor with a guttural cry. His magic won't work, he can't even get the door to rattle with mere strength alone, and so he's _stuck_ in a room with his own lifeless body.

A dry sob tears from his chest.

_'Gods, please find me already!'_

OoOo-oOoO

Arthur frowns at the decrepit old and crumbling shack he stands before. The sun will be setting soon, but all in all the shack was _far_ too easy to find, especially if Merlin is being 'held' there. No bandits, no beasts, and no cackling _Morgana_. Perhaps he really has just fallen asleep...

Looking at the shack, to call it a _home_ would be kind - it's more of a storage building for God-knows-what. The weather-worn structure could probably fit snugly into his bedroom chambers within its entirety. No windows, no chimney – only one looming door on a brown old and splintered wood wall. There's no other way into the shack, and there are no more footprints – so there's a massive chance Merlin is in this pathetic excuse for shelter.

Arthur twists his expression into a torn one. There's also a massive chance he and Gwen are walking into a trap.

"Well, I think –"

Gwen has already walked up to the door as Arthur loudly begins to contemplate action, now opening it and walking inside. Arthur swears, torn from his thoughts.

"Gwen, no! _Gwen_!" he hisses, running up to the door, sword already drawn. She hasn't even passed one step over the threshold by the time he gets to her, though she doesn't seem intent on moving any further in.

"Gwen, do you _want_ to be killed?!" Arthur demands, mortified by his wife's lack of care. Gwen is saying nothing.

Arthur frowns at his wife's silence, unable to see her face properly from where he stands, and keeping his guard up still – the shack is terribly quiet and impossible to see inside from his position - before placing his hands on her shoulders, planning on pulling her back so he can see inside. This all could still well be a trap, and so he prefers that he goes in first. Gwen jolts into action at his very touch though, and rips herself from Arthur's grip before running inside.

"Gwe -!"

"_No!"_ comes the shrill, desperate cry from his wife's lips. Arthur is inside in a heartbeat, eyes blazing and heart pounding with his.

"Get away from her! I –" he starts, only to have the words die in his mouth.

The shack is poorly lit and near-empty furniture wise. But this isn't what bothers Arthur – no, firstly it's the smell. How he hadn't noticed it as soon as Gwen opened the door he'll never know, but he staggers back once it hits him and now it's overwhelming, the urge to retch pulling at his stomach. Like rotting and waste and everything _beyond_ disgusting – something that he'll never be able to fully forget, especially when eating.

Not that it matters at this particular point – what _does_ matter is the twisted, bloody form of an _almost_ unrecognizable man sitting in a chair in the centre of the room.

_Almost_.

"No! Merlin! Oh Gods, Arthur! He's not breathing! Not bre – Come on, Merlin! Come on!" Gwen demands through choking sobs, already crouching slightly at the man's side as she desperately brushes the lank and clumped hair from the man's face. There's no doubt at this point the man is Merlin, his facial structure now completely exposed beneath the dried blood and dirt and wounds – Arthur can recognize the man with ease even with the drastic changes and at this moment he can't even _think_.

Pushing past Gwen in that moment, he clamps his hands down hard on Merlin's shoulders, eyes wide and scarily wild, as if beyond reason as he stands over his servant. His entire face doesn't seem to know what expression it should be pulling, so it tries to stay neutral despite the twitch at his lips.

_There's so much blood_, more injuries than Arthur knows to deal with, and a damn flower budding from the man's chest for crying out loud; but the most important point that makes Arthur's heart feel as if it's going to pack in at that very moment, is that Gwen is _right_. Merlin really isn't breathing.

Arthur begins to shake Merlin's shoulders, slowly.

"No... Come on, Merlin. Don't make a fool of me, wake up," Arthur starts, as if passing along his servant a simple order, ignoring the minor shake in his own voice. Gwen is speaking, but whatever she's saying just doesn't seem to reach Arthur's ears.

The man is deathly cold, and is far too stiff to shake – it's much like trying to move a statue, and as Arthur recalls Gaius's words on how men begin to stiffen a good few hours after death, his shakes only become more violent.

"Merlin! You useless _bastard_, get up! Wake up! No! You aren't dead; you're too damn _stupid_ to die!"

Arthur's tone is no longer calm, and Gwen's voice is a lot louder as a force pulls at his shoulder. Her shouts still do not reach Arthur's ears, as his entire being is only concentrated on the – definitely not dead, no _way_ is he _dead_ – servant before him. The man who's stood at his side during the road from Prince to King. Who's been there through some of the worst days of Arthur's life. Who's whispered the answers in his ear and stood confident in every danger thrown at him. Who Arthur trusts with his life.

Who Arthur didn't save in time.

Who's _dead_.

Arthur is finally pulled away as a gut-churning and almost primal scream pulls at his bones, torn from his very own throat, as if proof of his own 'failure' as an employer, friend, _best_ friend, and everything in between.

_**"Merlin!"**__  
_  
OoOo-oOoO

"I'm here! I'm here! Look at me! _That's not me!_ Oh Gods, please look at me! Arthur, Gwen! _I'm here!_"

Merlin screams until his throat is numb, tears messily spilling down his face as he tries and fails to hold onto his friends. Onto his King and Queen. But it's like he isn't even in the same _world_ as them as his arms simply _stop_ before he can touch them – like they have a physical thick film around their skins and clothes; stopping his hands mere millimetres before he can feel their bodies.

They're still focused on the dead man on the chair, Gwen crying and shouting and holding Arthur back, and then the scream that suddenly rips from Arthur's lips is soon joined by Merlin's frustrated own; a heart-wrenchingly monstrous duet heard by nobody but him.

The screams stop abruptly, and Merlin feels chilled to the very bone. He feels so confused, and scared, and disgustingly _helpless_. He's _never_ seen Arthur like this, and the worst part is that he has to _watch_. Watch as his best friends crumble before the form of his can't-be-dead self, a disgustingly morbid scene, when actually he's standing right there by their sides.

Gwen is hugging Arthur tightly now, hushing him desperately as the man howls into her shoulder. Merlin can't help the feeling at the back of his chest telling him that he _could_ feel touched at the scene, but the sheer horror of it all is just too overwhelming.

He jerkily steps forwards and wraps his arms around the couple huddled in the centre of the room in a final effort to prove his existence. Yet again, his arms stop just moments away from their forms.

"I'm not dead," he whispers, pretending he can feel the bodies he's trying to cling to. "Please, please hear me. I'm not dead. I'm not dead. _I'm not dead!_"

The hug brakes off, and Arthur steps backwards which forces Merlin to step away as well. He's stopped his cries quickly, a new unreadable look on his messy face, and Merlin feels his hopes shoot up. Arthur heard him – he must have! He knows!

Arthur looks to the body in the chair, and then to Gwen. Whatever he's thinking, Gwen seems to be in the same mindset. Nothing has been said yet though, and Merlin's hope is quickly being replaced with familiar worry.

And then Gwen opens her mouth.

"We'll give him a proper burial, Arthur."

At this, Merlin pauses before he actually does throw up – thick, black ooze which pours from his mouth and to the floor. It goes un-noticed by Gwen and Arthur, who aren't even looking in his general direction. He feels empty, the hope smashed from his soul, and he can't even bring himself to scream for his existence one more time.

They're going to bury him. Arthur is going to bury that _body_, and leave. What is Merlin supposed to do? Follow him? Forever? Never to be seen? What will even happen to Merlin? Will he stay like this _forever_?

This can't happen. It... It can't.

There's only one option Merlin can see, one option that might renew hope after all if he can get what he wants, and that's...

_'Morgana!'_

Merlin jumps at the sudden exclamation from Gwen's lips, turning to face what she and Arthur are glaring at.

Well, speak of the devil.

OoOo-oOoO

_Jam: Urg, so sorry about the late update and the short chapter – I just do NOT get a lot of time for writing these days, and I know I need to work on my writing ability itself a lot D: Either way though, thank you SO much for your reviews and support! It means so much to me, and I hope this chapter clears up Merlin's vague situation a little more... Don't worry though; everything will be explained (kinda) next chapter! This fic won't be terribly long, 'cause I can only update at my friend's house, but I WILL finish it! I will also try to update That Determination Of His ASAP!_

Thank you so much for your patience!__


	5. Chapter 5

"_What have you done?!"_

With the one desperate rage-fuelled roar, Arthur throws himself towards the woman he once treated so dearly. The woman he could trust with anything. Now look what she's done. No sword, only horror and anger and hatred, Arthur is fully intent on causing some damage.

Morgana only smirks, before barking a quick spell. Arthur, along with Gwen screaming _something_ behind him, froze. Arthur is stuck with his fist in the air, just about to deliver a blow to Morgana's cheek before its abrupt stop. Morgana chuckles, brushing her fingers over the knuckles of Arthur's calloused skin before walking behind the man.

Her gaze rests on Gwen briefly. No smiles, no taunting. She wants as little to do with the Queen as possible – today, Arthur is her main concern. Definitely.

"Oh, was I interrupting?" Morgana chuckles airily, walking back around to face Arthur. Pure hatred is frozen onto his face. Morgana feels no satisfaction or fear from it, though she is indeed praying for the former. "You can only breathe like this. In and out, in and out. Everything else is frozen. You can hear me though, can't you?"

The room is silent, the air hanging heavy and dead around Morgana's shoulders. Arthur and his beloved wife are helpless before her in this tiny space, not to be found any time soon as the shack itself has a cloaking spell which only calls the attention of those she wants. A little like calling delicious flies into her invisible web, or a siren calling her sailors, she thinks with a smile.

Morgana's thin smile doesn't last as she continues to try and extract pleasure in tormenting her 'brother'.

"I could wrap my hand around your face right now..." she begins with a mutter, cricking her fingers one by one before Arthur's face. Since when did her hands become so bony and malnourished? "I could snap your neck. I could drag Gwen before you; do such unmentionable _terrible_ things to her, before finally letting you both die. I could... I could..."

Morgana slowly becomes more agitated with her words, which became more manic with each sentence. She stops talking, placing the back of her hand beneath Arthur's nose. Light breath strokes her hand. He's definitely alive. And yet again her random drabs of knowledge inform her that _yes_, he can hear her.

And then it dawns upon her. She's finally gotten it – everything she wants. Merlin is suffering a fate worse than death – the second his body is moved, his already-removed soul is trapped in this tiny space forever. The shack could be destroyed; he would still be confined to this small area until the end of time. Uther is dead, never to walk this Earth again. Arthur, the King of Camelot itself, is frozen just an arm's reach away, and the woman who wears what should be _her_ crown is not much further behind.

So why - and this really is the bread-winning question - _why, _does she not feel satisfied? She is a murderer. She's killed people both innocent and tainted. She's worked numerous plans up only to be foiled each and every time. She's only felt her hatred increase... Only, this time she hasn't been stopped.

She's won. Felt every stone under her shoe the entire way, every scrape each time she's been thrown to the floor. She's battled on so damn hard...

So why is there nothing to greet her at this finishing line?

A low howl begins to permeate from Morgana's chest. There's no sense of victory here. She's been cheated, betrayed, by her family, by her friends and by her feelings. The vile acts she has done hold no remorse in her heart, but no glee either. And as she falls to her knees, she realizes she's screaming now. Because no matter what she does, she can't fill this nothingness. No-one will cheer her name as Queen. She knows, maybe always has, that the whole 'saving her kind' was bull. Selfish. Everyone in this damn place is so damn selfish. Every 'selfless' act is stained with wants and needs. The 'needs' to be desired, accepted, loved and admired. The basic wants of every human out there.

And right now, she pleads as she continues to cry out in disgust and anguish, Morgana needs her deserved satisfaction. Because really – really, _truly_, she knows she must deserve it by now.

_**"Dammit!"**_

_****_OoOo-oOoO

Merlin shivers at the gruesome and, sadly enough, heart-wrenching display before him. It's almost joke-worthy – the powerful villain brought to her knees by her own shambled head. And _Gods_ can he see what makes her tick – literally. This silent prison is now full. It became this way the second she walked in here this final time. Every betrayal that ever hit her, the two years closed away with a deformed best friend at her lap, the hateful stares of the lacky's she employed. The death of Morgause. Each and every time Uther put his foot down, when all she wanted to do was help. Even Merlin's own recent 'betrayal'. They're all here to see in grotesque broken unimaginable yet completely physical forms, pinned with ancient rusty nails to the dirty old walls of the shack, completely naked for Merlin to see.

_Just_ Merlin.

They're terrifying. Disgusting. They reek of things he cares not to repeat. All his senses are in overload at this new packed environment. He feels like he's in some form of incomprehensible nightmare as these _things_ surround him. He can't do anything. Can't stop Morgana. Cannot save his frozen friends. They can't even see him. But he won't stop trying. Not yet.

Seeing as they are the only drastic change in the environment, Merlin makes his way to one of the twisted betrayals nailed to the wall. Why can he see this? Glancing back to his body, Merlin sees that nothing has changed there. Still... not moving. But not dead either, Merlin reminds himself. Not yet.

He jumps back with a yelp as words begin to whisper into his right ear.

_'It says, Merlin, that souls are so very complicated. Buried not only in skin, but way beneath your memories, your dreams and your nightmares; the soul itself never changes. It simply becomes... armoured. I suppose that's one way to say it. I've never seen _that_ symbol before. Anyway, you can only have one's soul opened up raw to you once your own is open and free too. Does that make sense? I'm still getting my head around this myself... Strange!'_

Merlin's memory, that exact memory of himself and Gaius on that freezing windy night, is drawn up subconsciously and placed before Merlin freely. Its form is indescribable, sporting swirling magnificent colours Merlin has never even seen before – he cannot even begin to comprehend them. But at the same time, he knows this 'thing' is his. This memory is favourable, a happy one. It smells of herbs and healing lotions. Gives him the feeling of home. It was from when, many moons back, Gaius had come across some old text, which he and Merlin spent all night deciphering. In the end, they were just as confused as when they had started, if not more so.

Before Merlin can become wrapped up in the memory, it melts into that familiar black goo right before his eyes.

Looking to Morgana's own memories and thoughts nailed to the wall, which are now all hissing and spitting and _clicking_ despite owning no mouths as they jerk a dance to Morgana's continued scream, Merlin decides to take a terrifying chance.

Grabbing the memory of her imprisonment with her dragon best-friend, Merlin tears it from the wall.

As his fingers come into contact, every second spent in that hellhole became Merlin' own too. Every agonized scream for help, every day no one came – they are all his now too. Engraved in his memory, and it takes every iota of his being just to shoulder the madness of those alien memories being integrated with his own.

_Aithusa... Don't die..._

Now, in his brain, he's lived through every moment in that desolated pit as Morgana. Every. Single. One. The memory is heavy and squirms in his arms, the stench more powerful than anything he's ever encountered. Morgana didn't have much room to move there. To stretch. To leave her own _waste_, for crying out loud.

With a monstrous screech, Merlin rips the memory free and throws it to the ground. These memories are still Morgana's. She'll never forget them. But if he can set them loose... Well, _something_ has to happen.

The second the memory touches ground, it melts down much like Merlin's own. But that isn't what draws Merlin's attention – No, it's the abrupt halt of Morgana's scream, as a strange and almost _accepting_ look pans over her gaze.

_So the memory didn't run rampant once free, and she seems to be just... accepting it, _Merlin frowns.

Wasting no more time on thoughts, Merlin decides to take a leap in the dark... And begins to rip every single form, varied in their shapes and their sizes, and rip them from their nails.

Every scream, every kill, every heart-ache, every betrayal, _everything_. They all become free and melt to the floor, Merlin reliving every day, every year, in mere seconds. Black ooze spills from his nose, the corners of his eyes, his ears and his mouth... But he continues. Doesn't slow as Morgana's gaze becomes more relaxed and clear –and not for Camelot. Not for the whole damn world. Just for the people in this room. All of them.

He was right the first time – there had been something to save. There always had been, and now Morgana's evil and most intimate nightmares were his own – the price of Morgana's freedom from her own chains.

The last memory – yet another one too sad and too lonely for Merlin to ever bring up – finally melts. Morgana slumps forward.

_Nothing waits at the victory line._

oo-oo-oo-o-oo-oo-oo-o-oo-oo-oo-o-oo-oo-oo

_So this was like, erm, an experimental chapter. For those of you confused, Merlin is catching on that he's just a soul now, and Morgana's own soul is being shown to him with her tangible memories for reasons not yet explained ... Just trust me I'll try and make more sense next chapter don't kill me I have a family of socks O_O_

As to the flower on Merlin's chest etc, that will also be cleared up.

I'm so sorry for the confusion, I just really wanted the fic to go this way. - Jam


	6. Chapter 6

Being frozen like this is the strangest feeling in the world, Gwen thinks. Her muscles are completely relaxed, her sinuses clear as day making breathing thankfully easy, and yet it feels as though she's in a snake-like grip. She has a good view of the back of her husband's head, and Morgana herself has only come into sight once or twice the entire time she's been here. It's as if she doesn't even want to _look_ at Gwen, which actually serves the Queen of Camelot right down to the ground. Gwen once would have done anything for Morgana. Would endure her hardships with her. Would trust her with her life. Hell, she would follow the woman to the ends of the earth and back. But now... This.

Each betrayal Morgana has ever presented her with has only driven Gwen further back into herself. Any feelings, and boy did she have feelings for the woman a lifetime ago, were thrown in a box and locked away. This most recent betrayal is one of new standing – Merlin, one of Gwen's closest friends, lies dead behind her. Obvious signs of torture lace his skin. Gwen doesn't even want to think as to whether or not Merlin screamed. It was a _horrific_ way to go for someone she held so dear. He must have been terrified – no amount of loyalty and bravery could prepare him for _that_.

And _that_, quite frankly, is the last of her patience. If Arthur doesn't manage to kill this woman – no, the remains of what once was this woman, then she will. That's a promise. Or... It _was_ a promise. Right until she heard that scream – a sound that ripped her heart right from her chest.

OoOo-oOoO

Morgana can feel a scurrying in her head – it became apparent the second she stopped screaming. The moment her memory of that long imprisonment with Aithusa was ripped raw from her mind and numbed down into something sweeter... Something more _acceptable_. Like a cloth over a bleeding wound – the damage is still there, but the flow of crimson is slowed to allow the healing to set in.

But... how? _Why_? These questions don't stay long, as warmness envelops her entire body. Her most vulnerable and hated memories are becoming numbed one by one, and in place, old memories she hadn't remembered in years come cropping up.

Her laughter. Her smiles. The love she once felt towards her 'friends', and the promise she once saw in her brother. They were only memories but... they were not unwelcome. She was becoming lighter, calmer, and as the familiar cheeky grin of her br... of _Arthur's_ manservant came to light in yet another ancient dust-covered memory, she knew Merlin had somehow managed to connect his soul with hers. She just... Knew.

Which, of course, should be impossible.

Ignoring Arthur and Gwen, who she now cannot even look in the eyes as memories of her old life flood back before her, she walks up to the slumped empty shell of Merlin.

The connection between his body and soul were severed the moment Morgana uttered that spell in her previous rage. Now Morgana looks down upon the man she's put through hell, knowing he'll be in for far worse the moment his body is removed from the room. Morgana knows the flower blooming strong from Merlin's chest has invisible roots diving right down into the earth itself, stretching around the entire area and perimeter of the shack. The person whom had been forced to teach the spell to Morgana had told her that the flower's roots mark the new 'skin' a soul can inhabit. The old 'skin', the original body, must be kept inside the new 'skin' for hope of the soul being returned to its previous vessel... Otherwise, the soul is trapped forever within the confines of the flower's invisible vines.

Right now, the shack is Merlin's 'skin'.

The only way to return the soul to the previous vessel is the removal of the spell by its caster. Even if the flower is torn away, its roots still remain. Finally, if the soul is just too damaged, it may not return to its previous vessel at all.

Morgana lets out a soft sigh. Such a short spell can cause such complicated and long-lasting results. But with her cleared head, her hatred has dulled. Her mind is not at ease, certainly not, just she feels... better. And that's the only way she can describe it.

She mutters the spell needed to restore Merlin slowly, carefully, the words she speaks filled no longer with rage or sheer nothingness. She doesn't dare hope silly things like a happily ever after, and she doesn't need his forgiveness. Every action she had performed is still her own, every betrayal she initiated still left wounds on her victims just as they left wounds on her. But she needs to talk to Merlin right now. _Just_ Merlin. Because really – just what in the hell is he?

OoOo-oOoO

Merlin is tired. It's a tiredness he's never felt before – his head is heavy with all these new memories, the ooze despite it having stopped still stains his body. He's crouched in the corner, eyes on the floor, focusing on nothing. He feels numb. But this is a numbness that he dislikes, one he can only pray will disappear with time. Easing the burden on Morgana's back has only increased his own tenfold, and now he cannot even bring himself to move his fingers curled up loosely on his lap. These memories are weighing his exposed soul down, down, down...

Everything is just too damn heavy. His eyelids droop. He's unsure if they're going to open again, he might be lost in this darkness forever and ever under the weight of the world itself, but then... he feels fingers on his chin.

_F... Fingers?_

It takes all Merlin's strength just to open his eyes again. His head is being propped up by those fingers under his chin, and he can feel them, and he's just so damn tired.

Morgana's gaze bores into his own, forcing him to stay awake. A slow uneven pain stretches over his body like a blanket, the previous numbness he was becoming accustomed to curdling away. He can feel the hardness of that old wooden chair under his body, the smell of sweat in the air, and he knows the frozen bodies of both Arthur and Gwen are hardly two steps away from him.

He's back. He can't move a muscle, that weariness still deep in his bones though the pain is now helping him stay awake. He saw the memory of Morgana taking that man's life right after she forced him to give her the soul-removing spell, saw how he told her how it works. Merlin knows _everything_, and he cannot find even one word to say. So they simply look at one another, a silent and sad understanding floating intangible between them.

Morgana is the first to break the moment. Break the silence.

"You got inside my head," she whispers. Merlin tries to shake his head, but the strength doesn't come. Instead, Morgana's hand still propping his head up so they can talk as equals, he works on making his voice leave his dry lips.

His tongue is heavy; it can only make soft quiet words.

"No – I brought you inside mine."

Morgana frowns, bringing her face closer to Merlin's just to hear him.

"W.. What?"

"I... Don't understand myself. Somehow I brought you inside this shack – this 'skin', but just those foul memories of yours. And now... they're mine too."

Morgana's eyes widen – Merlin doesn't even know how he's managed such a feat, and Morgana herself knows that the whole concept of bringing one's memories into another's mind is one magic too advanced for even the most capable of its users.

She won't admit it, but it scares her. It scares her right down to her core – because really, just how much power does Merlin actually hold?

"You... took from me."

Merlin smiles loosely, his eyes unable to focus anymore as he battles to keep his consciousness. "I didn't... take. I shared."

"Sharing does indeed mean you must share too," Morgana mutters warily, her fingers still strong beneath Merlin's chin. His eyes are closed now.

"Then... I'll try. Just give me... Give me one moment."

Just as Morgana finds herself knowing things, Merlin has always lived the same fate with his own magic. And he knows he can share with Morgana. He knows it'll take what's left out of him. He knows it could kill him.

But Morgana isn't the only one with the burden of memories, and now... he has a chance to lessen his own. So he opens his eyes. He lets his body become host to the last dregs of his magic.

He shares, without a word.

OoOo-oOoO

It all takes less than ten seconds.

Morgana is living through every single moment, no punches held. A pleasant youth, a loving mother, playing with Will and wanting little despite the modest living Merlin survived on. The memories were old but warm, sewing themselves into her own mind, and every laugh and every hug and every kiss becomes her own. She knows she'd be happy just to be lost in these memories until death.

Then comes the heavy stuff.

Constant fear. The death of Merlin's best friend. The guilt for letting him take the blame. Freya. Lancelot. Relationships built with people he thought the world about, only for them to be taken away.

Arthur. Constantly saving him, even if it meant Merlin going through more pain any man should in one lifetime, never mind a day. Hiding himself. Not letting Arthur know. Constant fear, constant guilt. Keeping it hidden. Saving Camelot near every damn day, and only having Gaius to pat him on the shoulder at the end of it all.

Then there are his memories of Morgana herself – she can _see_ herself. Fighting for her old beliefs alongside her old friends, smiling and joking with Merlin, Gwen by her side. She looks... happy.

Then the poison. Merlin's choice. Merlin's regret. It's hard for Morgana to watch, seeing this betrayal replayed with her own two eyes, but the different viewpoint brings conflicting feelings.

Last but not least are the most hard-hitting memories. The most controversial. Merlin... is Emrys. Morgana can see the transformation, the things Merlin has done to Morgana for his own goals. And in _these_ memories, Merlin doesn't see himself as the bad guy despite the fear Morgana was put through. Despite the pain she can recall. But she can't even begin to restart her old hatred, or feel a fresh new betrayal. These memories are hers too now – she sees the reasoning behind Merlin's actions just as he must have seen hers.

There are two sides to every story.

The weight on her soul suddenly becomes unbelievably heavy in just those ten seconds. She's lived a whole other life in the blink of an eye and would have to spend years just unknotting Merlin's memories from her own if she saw fit.

Back to reality. Back to the here and now. Merlin's expression hasn't changed, nor has his body moved, but there are tears making tracks down his cheeks. Morgana is no different. The fingers under Merlin's chin slip away, Morgana bringing down her forehead instead to rest against Merlin's own. The silence is only broken by quiet breaths, as Morgana and Merlin look only at each other. Morgana's tired eyes are mere inches away from Merlin's own. No boundaries or personal space – they've seen each other bare their souls in the past thirty minutes. Lived each other's lives. And now they can only live in this moment, for this silence.

This time Merlin's the one to break it.

"What now?"

Morgana smiles sadly. "I let you escape I suppose. All of you."

Merlin doesn't return her smile. "You know what I mean," he whispers.

Morgana looks down. She knows.

"I can't come back, Merlin. I won't offer apologies either. Everything has changed, and yet everything stays the same. I've... done bad things. But I'm not sorry. I can't be, because I don't think I could live with myself if I accept I was wrong. I've been betrayed. I've betrayed others. But you," Morgana mutters, trying not to let her voice catch. "I guess you've given me as good an apology as any. It's more than I could have dreamed of."

The last of Merlin's strength in his pained and broken body is depleting. The last of his magic has been used up, and if he isn't careful then he won't last much longer himself. He has so much to say, so much to argue... But all he can manage are two pathetically small and sad words.

"Don't go."

And he doesn't want her to go. Gods, does he not want her to go. They've lived each other's lives, understand each other better than anyone else ever could. They can make things work, build up old friendships, explain to Arthur, make a new start...

Only, they can't. Morgana is taking her weight away from his forehead, placing her hands on his cheeks. Merlin's eyes are pleading, desperate as they search for weakness in Morgana's own – and Morgana is crying. There's finally something to wait at the finish line... And she has to leave it behind.

With a stuttered sigh, she leans one last time into Merlin and leaves him a soft kiss on his scabbed lips.

Merlin ignores the pull of sleep and the urge to let his head lull, eyes wide as Morgana makes toward the door. Turning around, she wipes her suddenly hardened eyes with a quick hand, looking at no one in particular as she straightens herself up for her departure. She smoothes down her ragged clothes, and she slicks back the hairs that have managed to get into her face.

She straightens her back.

She sucks in a breath

She looks at Arthur. Gwen. Merlin.

_And I might be a little sorry._

Morgana leaves with no smile, no tears and no goodbyes, just a renewed strength in her body and soul; her only plan is to survive. To be left alone. To, for the third time, start again.

She's gone as her final spell fills the room.

OoOo-oOoO

_Finally we'll see Arthur and Gwen NOT doing nothing! There's only one chapter or so left I think. I really wanted this fic to be about Morgana's state of mind and all that jazz – and I am sooooo sorry to everyone who has been confused thus far!_

A basic explanation for those still confused – Merlin's soul had been split from his body, and so in his exposed form he managed to unconsciously drag parts of Morgana's own soul into the shack acting as the new body for his form. Yeah. You know what, I might just put a full explanation of the spell up at the end of the fic...

Also, for the record this fic isn't any specific non-canon pairing despite any hints. A'yup.

Thank you all so much for your support so far! :) - Jam


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur Pendragon is a strong-headed man. Through sheer force of habit if nothing else, any problem could go away if you just hit it hard enough – yes, through the years gone by he's learned that you cannot rule an entire kingdom just by hitting it, but the habit is still there deep in his bones. It's a little like an over-ride when he simply cannot think up any other options – one final act of desperation when his legendary 'strong head' is placed in extreme distress.

So that being said, seeing his best friend dead before him certainly is calling for this primal instinct deep down inside, because how the hell can Merlin be... _dead_? The man has stood through thick and thin right there by Arthur's side, faced monsters both human and otherworldly alike. Quite literally, and Arthur has found himself admitting this in his mind so often that he can see it as nothing but a fact, Merlin is his best friend.

Arthur always found the concept of a best friend ridiculous when younger. A best friend was not someone he could form an emotional attachment with – no, a best friend was whoever Uther stuck him with. Whoever Uther found had the most influential parents. And Arthur would just shrug, shake the hand of whoever was his 'best friend' that month and carry on with his life.

Until Merlin.

There's no need to pick out individual points for the man – Merlin has proved his worth over and over again. He is... _was_... a great and loyal man, and what was his reward? A gruesome death at the hands of Arthur's own 'sister'. Raising his fist towards a powerful magic-user such as her without backup or even his sword in his other hand was not the smartest thing he's ever done – but what else do you do when you find your most trusted ally in the world dead? Arthur had found himself in an extreme distress, one which had not been so strong since the death of his father, and this time he could see that the cause was definitely in the form of Morgana.

_Hitting her might not make her go away, but it would feel damn good right now.  
_  
He'd only felt rage when running towards her. Pure, unfiltered rage so large and disgusting he felt it might have torn him apart if he just stood there and waited for her to talk. To gloat. A little, silly part of him had always whispered that Morgana might return to Camelot. She might beg for forgiveness. See the error of everything she's done, and then Arthur could forgive her. He could help her. They could all start again...

But Morgana's crimes are numerous, and death is the only punishment anywhere near retribution for his people. Arthur is King, and Morgana has hurt his people, as well as his family and friends. He had restrained from feeding that silly little hope of the old days. Looked forward. Treasured those ancient happy memories and accepted them as nothing more.

Now Merlin's death has burned what was left of Arthur's hope down to the ground and buried the ashes. This haggard black Witch is not Morgana. It is an evil that wears her face. Nothing more. Never anything less.

But Arthur never gets to lay his knuckles against the dirt-riddled skin of that witch's cheek. He's frozen in place just before even a little part of his anger can be released, and he is sure that there is no chance in hell he will ever be able to quench this never-ending circle of grief and rage.

That is, until, he hears that scream.

If he could smile, he would. To his boiled-up anger, it's a cool and almost addictive soother. There's no worry for her. Absolutely none. That woman has betrayed Arthur enough, and he won't rest until her grotesque lifeless body lies at his feet.

For himself.

For Camelot.

For Merlin.

_So scream. Scream your damned heart out. _

OoOo-oOoO

Morgana is gone. Merlin watched her leave, or at least the blurry figure he assumed to be her. Everything is swirling, blending into one another. He managed to hear her final spell – or parts of it. He's willing to bet it's one to free Arthur and Gwen from their invisible bindings. Morgana said they were all... _free_. His friends will see he's not dead. They can help him now. They'll take him home.

He _really_ wants to go home right now.

He has every single one of Morgana's sour memories wedged inside his head, and in turn he shoved every last one of his, both good and bad, inside hers. He doesn't know how he performed it. Right now, he doesn't even care. Morgana is gone. He wants her back but he's in no state to chase her. And to top it all off, he's terrified.

Terrified because his body doesn't hurt as much. Terrified because that numbness is creeping back with much more a possessive streak than before. Terrified, because his eyelids are just getting heavier and heavier. He can hardly see a thing and if he closes his eyes, well, will... _will they ever open again?_

Stay awake.

_Stay. Awake._

_**I don't want to die**__  
_  
OoOo-oOoO

The spell binding Arthur and Gwen does indeed snap off the moment Morgana leaves. Gwen almost falls on her face from her paused moving position. Arthur, due to the force he had put behind his punch, catapults forward before crashing to the ground.

"What the..." Gwen steadies herself, surprised at her sudden ability to move again. Arthur is cursing foully from his crumpled position on the floor, a sheer bitterness to his words that Gwen finds herself shivering at.

When Morgana had went behind the frozen pair mere minutes ago, the hushed whispers made no sense to either one of them. The words, if they even were words, were as soft as a gentle wind. The only thing Gwen herself could be sure of, and she feels her heart race as she recalls, was that it was a two-sided conversation.

Morgana was talking to someone.

Eyes wide, Gwen turns to face the spot where Merlin's body sits slouched. Arthur himself had ran out of the shack the moment he got back onto his feet, presumably to chase someone who was presumably in no way going to let herself get caught.

Merlin is in the exact same position as when Gwen had last seen him, his eyes closed and his body a state. She has to fight the bile rising up in her throat at the reminder of just what had happened to Merlin, and for a moment she feels all the last dregs of her hope melting away. Of course Morgana wasn't talking to anyone. She's mad, she was more likely just having a conversation with herself...

Only... Gwen pauses.

The flower that had bloomed from Merlin's chest is now gone.

Gwen crouches down to her friend's battered face. Fights the sick feeling, the anger.

Merlin's lips are moving. Slowly, shakily, and the movements are so miniscule that they would be easy to miss with a hasty eye, _but they're there_. Quickly, hope blooming in her chest, Gwen puts her ear up close to Merlin's lips.

"..ed. Not... Dead... Not.."

Gwen gasps through the tears springing to her eyes, shaking her head in shock. He's alive! He's... _how_?! Barricading her erratic mindset and the questions it's about to bombard her with in an impressively fast moment, Gwen slaps Merlin's cheeks gently. Despite his slow constant statement being repeated again and again, Merlin seems to be completely unconscious.

"A... _Arthur_!"

Gwen hears no reply, hears no patter of feet running to her aid. For a moment, a deep terror hits her square in the face: Did Arthur leave? Go on a wild goose chase after Morgana? Gwen calls again, this time far louder. Then, before letting panic set in, she focuses on Merlin. Sucking in a breath she quickly stamps on her rampant emotions, calling in on every technique to compose a calm mind she can. Gaius and Arthur were able to help her when she had first became Queen, but Gwen had to teach herself most of everything when it came to being a royal – how to keep a cool head in the face of danger was something Gwen found herself learning first, the many deadly encounters she and the entire of Camelot faced on a regular basis her prompt.

Merlin won't survive much longer without medical aid soon, and waiting for an errant Arthur will not improve Merlin's chances. Narrowing her eyes, Gwen turns around so she is crouching with her back to Merlin, and feels for his arms behind her in order to pull him onto her back. No way would she be able to carry Merlin out of the shack – no way on Earth.

_Dragging _him out is another story.

It only takes a minute or so once Gwen has Merlin's arms wrapped around her neck to pull the long-limbed man out of the hut. His feet scrape against the floor, and Gwen sweats profusely with the effort – it must surely look a ridiculous sight for anyone not aware of the urgency of the situation. Gwen doesn't care. Every second feels far too long, and she has to fight every little hopeless thought inside her. She has to get Merlin outside. There, they have a better chance of being found.

_Hopefully._

Finally, she manages to step outside. The moon is high above her head – somehow more time than she had thought had passed whilst in the shack. She focuses again on Merlin, crouching down to lay him down on the ground behind her. He is her only priority right now, she has to remember that.

The moon illuminates Merlin's body, dirt and grass under his back as Gwen kneels by his head. His clothes are torn, coloured bruises and dried blood litter his face. Gwen shudders violently at the marks she can now see around his neck, and she can't actually bring herself to properly look at the state of Merlin's mauled hand.

Daring to look away from her friend, Gwen looks around for any sign of Arthur. The trees spare a large circle around her, the shack and Merlin, the moonlight lighting it all up just as well as the sun itself could. Despite the strong moonlight though, Gwen cannot see a thing beyond the circle of trees.

Just as she readies herself to yell for help, she hears a stuttered sigh. Whipping her head back around to look at Merlin, it's with horror she notes that his lips are no longer moving.

"No... No no _no_!"

She puts her ear close to his mouth – no words to prove his connection to the living world. She tries to search for a breath, even wetting her finger and placing it under his nose. No breath. Not a thing. His chest doesn't rise or fall in the slightest.

"No! Merlin! Don't you dare do this to me!"

She racks her mind for something to help her. What should she do? What the hell is she supposed to do? She needs to save him! But... how?!

Tendrils of madness creeping up on her, Gwen forces herself for the final time to clear her head. It only takes her but two moments, but they are the most difficult moments she has ever had to face.

Her calmness is rewarded with a memory. A quick one. A one that promises nothing, one that is more experimental than not, but one she's going to use anyway.

She does exactly as Gaius had shown her all those moons ago – a strange technique he himself had once seen bring a man back from death. But it has to be done soon, and more times than not it doesn't work. Gwen doesn't care – right now she's willing to try anything.

Ignoring the tears that have stained her face, she leans right down over Merlin and pinches his nose. With her free hand, she opens Merlin's mouth and presses her own over it tight.

_'It was so strange, Guinevere. The man was dead for sure, when this odd lady pushed her way into the crowd and just... forced his heart to beat again.'_

Gwen ignores the urge to pull away and cry for help – this is going to work. It _has_ to. She breaths deeply into Merlin's mouth, before tearing herself away and pushing three times on Merlin's chest.

_'Some people were laughing at her, you know. I would be lying if I said I didn't smirk myself. But... it worked. Not an iota of magic was used – just willpower and perseverance. It was probably one of the most incredible things I have ever seen.'_

Gwen repeats those actions again – pinching Merlin's nose and breathing into his mouth, before pushing on his chest. There's still no response, and as she comes up for air after the fourth time she gives Merlin her breath, she feels more desperation than she ever had done before.

"Merlin," she sobs, tired and feeling that old familiar hopelessness begin to kick in again. Her voice is raw as she pushes down yet again on his chest. "Please... Please, come on! Come back!"

Her voice catches as she puts her mouth back down over Merlin's own... only to feel him choke up into her. Eyes wide Gwen throws herself backwards, landing heavily on the ground behind her. She scrambles back up to her knees, watching Merlin gasp for breath.

_'I don't suggest you use that technique though Guinevere. That woman was burnt that very day for witchcraft. A sad thing indeed – she obviously did not own a drop of magic in her entire body.'_

Merlin's breath slowly evens out. Gwen is hunched over him, her face twisted in shock and relief. Her tears are flowing freely now, some hitting Merlin's face before she manages to wipe a swift arm over her cheeks. Merlin's eyes still do not open, but his chest is moving. As Gwen wipes her face yet again, she can see that his lips are moving too.

_"Not... dead..."_

OoOo-oOoO

Jam: Guys, I am really sorry - this fic will probably be another chapter or so. I thought it would be finished and done in this chapter, but I wanted to give Gwen a little more of a role because she totally rocks.

Annnyyyyway, we'll find out what the errant Arthur is up to next chapter, hopefully he'll get his arse back to Gwen, find out that Merlin totally isn't dead and chill the heck out! Or not...

Thank you all so much for your feedback :) No, seriously!


	8. Chapter 8

The moment Arthur is let go, he crashes to the floor.

_Finally, this disgusting fury can be directed. _

He doesn't dare look behind him, where he knows his friend lies dead in a gruesome scene telling of torture and pain. The mere thought of seeing Merlin in that state yet again is something he just cannot entertain – Merlin is dead. That is all. He hasn't said a word to Gwen, and he isn't planning to either. He knows she's okay, and if there's one thing he finds more terrifying than his fury itself, it's the tiny thought that he just might take his feelings out on the person he cares about the most.

Arthur needs to find Morgana.

He doesn't know why she hasn't killed him. He doesn't care. His thoughts are foggy and fuelled with nothing but rage and loss – a dangerous, frightening mix. He forces himself to escape out of the door and into the night for one reason and one reason alone: _vengeance_.

His body feels heavy and sluggish with the first few steps he takes, but his run steadily increases into a sprint as he runs towards the circle of trees surrounding the shack. He has no clue where she's gone, or even if he's going in the right direction, but if he stays with Gwen he's just too damn scared of what might happen.

He doesn't want to lose anyone else today.

The night air whips at his face and hair as the branches of trees strike at his body. Panting he continues to run – he's running faster than he's ever ran in his life. Lost in the movement of his legs, only telling himself to carry on running. To find _her_. To avenge _him_. Another branch is slapped into his thigh, this one forcing him to let out a cry as it rips through his clothes and splits his skin. He doesn't let it stop him, instead using the pain as new fuel to run even faster. The trees are blending into one another, blurring and becoming hard to distinguish. Arthur refuses to acknowledge the reason behind it being the tears clouding his eyes.

Kings do not cry, not for anybody.

How long has he been running? God knows. It feels like an age, but he knows that it's more likely only been five minutes. His stamina is becoming drained as the idea of finding and killing Morgana becomes what it is: only a dream. She's gone. He won't be able to find her, and he knows it.

His rage depletes rapidly, like a hole in a bucket, and exhaustion begins to take over. Pain. He becomes clumsy as his legs slow down, before he steps wrongly onto a large fallen branch and simply collapses. Panting heavily, he turns over on the dry dirt and looks up to the towering trees above him. Patches of moonlight surround him, cover him. They reveal the beaten-down face of Arthur Pendragon, his gaze empty until he opens his mouth and lets out a low, heart-wrenching cry.

It's completely unfair. He's tried, hasn't he? He took his father's crown and accepted responsibility, grew up, he's tried to protect Camelot with every fibre of his being, he's studied day and night just to prepare for incidents that may never even _happen_ damn it! He's accepting more than he ever has – acting as a figure people can both rely on and trust. But it isn't enough, is it? No matter what Arthur does, the people he trusts and loves the most are going to be taken away one by one, until he's on a lonely old throne that rules over an empty kingdom.

What is he supposed to do now? Someone needs to tell him, because right now his strong head is shattered.

_oOo_oOo_

Gwaine, contrary to his statement earlier that day, did not bring the 'entire of Camelot' to search for Merlin. As much as he would have liked to, it was impractical and Arthur probably would have tried to kick his ass for it. Emphasis on 'try'.

So with a small handful of guards and Percival, the team set off with high hopes on gathering everyone up and being home for tea.

That hope was crushed when the moon began its slow journey through the sky above them, the chill in the air not particularly cold but making the men shiver none the less. The entire atmosphere of the forest was... odd. As if it had seen things it could only convey through the flow of wind it sends between the fingers and hairs of men, voiceless yet so full of emotion. _Sorrow_.

"We're going to have to stop for now, Gwaine. The men need rest and we won't find a thing in the dark."

Gwaine is close to pulling his hair out. He's been on edge for a good two hours, and itching to vent in any way possible. "Do you not _see_?! Not only is Merlin still missing, now the very King and Queen of Camelot are gone! This is _more_ than a search and rescue! This... is a complete mess!"

"I can see that, you idiot. I'm just as worried, honestly – but it doesn't change the facts. I suggest we set up camp and start the search up again at the crack of dawn," Percival sighs, trying to keep his voice low. Last thing he wants is the rest of the men listening in, in case they see the completely _imaginary_ sense in continuing to look in the dark. Gwaine needs to rest, just like everyone else here.

Gwaine, unsurprisingly, isn't listening. "There's no one to look after Camelot – in the morning there will be hysterics right across the kingdom, riots even! What do you think is going to happen when word gets around? A kingdom without its rulers is just free land! You know George seems to think he's in charge? I can tell you now that won't last for bloody long!"

Percival, against his better wishes, is just about to use brute force to calm his friend down when a lone howl bounces off the trees and surrounds the small group of searchers.

The men setting up camp all stand up, everyone pausing to listen to the heart-felt cry.

"What in the..."

"_Arthur_!" Gwaine shoots a grin directed at no-one in particular, hand on the sheath of the sword at his side, and without another word he bolts off beyond the darkness of the trees.

_If he has strength to cry out, then there's still hope. _

"Gwaine! You idiot! It's too dangerous to go alone!"

Gwaine doesn't bother to respond – this isn't just about rescuing royalty and he knows it. This is about his friends, and that's it.

_oOo_oOo_

Arthur is no longer crying out. No longer moving. He doesn't even blink, his eyes half lidded as he looks up with absolutely no interest and at absolutely nothing. He's never really been up and personal with his own feelings – instead he found it far easier to keep them at a distance. He is duty personified – that's all.

Or, he was.

Everything is just too much. The wall of duty surrounding his core has been invaded – smashed through and ransacked. There's not a brick left, and now his emotions are attacking him all at once. For a man who had his duty always so close to his heart, who saw it as part and parcel of his entire being, he just... can't handle it.

Death. Nothing but death follows him, with a good dosage of betrayal and pain just for good measure. Is this all that being King entails? Uther's reign was nothing short of tyrannical at major points during his last years, and Arthur is only just taking the baby steps to fix that. Even a toe in the wrong direction ends in catastrophe, and a toe in the right one can prove to hold the same result. The worst part is, you can really only go one way or the other – you can't just stay where you are.

Taking magic, for example. Once you make one exception, you have to make them all. Magic corrupts – well if that's true, then why has he seen goodness in it too?

It's not a matter of opinion, no. It's a matter of safety.

Either way, Arthur doesn't care anymore. No more messing about on a tightrope, trying to keep everyone happy. No more letting anyone close to his heart. No more decisions.

Because he can't handle this right now. For many years, there were always voices by his side gently nudging him to do the correct thing. Always there to calm him, to show him his options, to mould his entire person into someone who could lead an entire kingdom. Over time, the voices disappeared one by one, until there was only a small group of whisperers.

Even still, that stupid manservant... _Merlin _– he stayed throughout. He had the strongest voice. Even when the whispers got quieter, Merlin would still shout right over them. No care for propriety, respect, rank or anything else – Merlin treated Arthur how he did everyone else, and that quite frankly was enough.

There are uncounted things for Arthur to live for, to fight for, but right now he's focusing on the one that's been taken away. One of the most important ones, at that. The air feels dead around Arthur's body, the moonlight still flaking around his form as it beams down through the branches and leaves. He'll stay here forever – let the wolves eat him for all he cares.

Fuck being King.

A leaf floats down, gaining Arthur's attention as it lands on his stomach. He cranes his neck up to eye it warily, as if it holds some form of threat. There is no reason for him to believe such a thing, yet at the same time, the entire action feels... different.

Odd.

Arthur decides to ignore the leaf and lays his head back again. The second his head meets solid ground, he hears a voice.

A horrifyingly _familiar_ one at that.

"I wouldn't sleep there. Your leg-wound is worse than you give credit – don't let me stop you though."

Arthur bolts up, eyes wide as he feels for a sword that just isn't there.

"Morgana!" he roars with a renewed, overflowing strength. "Show yourself!"

He's at his feet now, turning in circles as he scans the trees, the ground and even the sky. He cannot see a thing – no Morgana or otherwise.

"Not here." The simple response enrages Arthur even more, as he continues to desperately search the environment. Her voice sounds calm, peaceful even, and quiet. Like it's miles away, travelling on the wind itself just to reach Arthur's ears.

"You vile witch," Arthur spits, snarling like a wild animal. Each word is an individual poison as they leave his lips. "What more do you want from me? What else do you want to destroy? Come before me now, we can finish this!"

Arthur actually feels himself expect a harsh laughter in response – a stab in the back or a slice to the neck. He has narrowed eyes and a learned fighter's stance, willing to take her on. He'll kill her. He really will.

He only gets a long sigh – one filled with sorrow alone as it slips through the trees and bushes.

"I'm not sorry for the past, Arthur. But I can make it so I don't need to be in the future."

Arthur doesn't really understand what Morgana is saying. He finds himself not caring all that much either – as soon as he sees her, he's willing to attack.

"Dammit Morgana show yourself!" he cries out, desperate. There's no immediate reply. Arthur's voice then lowers - almost defeated despite there being no battle. "You've hurt the people I care most about. Killed without mercy. You took my manservant... _No_. My best friend. And you did _that_ to him. I just... can't keep up anymore."

Arthur feels truly lost, and in the unseen face of his enemy he suddenly feels pathetically small.

This time, Morgana's response is no longer calm and controlled. Instead, a roll of wind hits Arthur hard as she shouts from where seems like next to his left ear.

"**Arthur Pendragon, you do not quit**!"

Arthur is shocked into silence, the strength in the woman's words completely unexpected. She sounds exactly... _exactly_ as Morgana did before she turned against Camelot.

"I will say this only once, Pendragon. Uther was a complete and utter _bastard_. His death brought me no grief what-so-ever. You – well, I was convinced you would be his clone. I wanted you to see my pain. To see what _he_ brought me down to. To drain you and your entire kingdom of its blood, sweat and tears. Recently... I've seen otherwise. Vague, I know, but it's not my decision to tell you a single thing of the past few hours.

"Anyway, I will make you an offer. I am in need of a break – a long one, too. In that time, I will not come anywhere near you, or Camelot, or your people. I will give you that time to prove to me you can live up to _his_ expectations."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Arthur demands. He no longer has the energy to shout with the same vigour as previously – looking down, his wound is indeed worse than he thought. He's lost quite a bit of blood, and the running did not help one bit.

"Merlin is alive, Pendragon."

Arthur's eyes widen.

"What do you mean? He is dead! I saw with my own eyes! ... Morgana! Speak at once!"

There is no response.

"Morgana? _**Morgana**_!"

The wind is dead again. She is gone, that's a definite. Arthur swears loudly. He doesn't even know where he is – which direction he came from. He needs to get back to Gwen – right now.

Stepping forward with a now-pronounced limp, he sees a shadow amongst the trees. Arthur yet again makes for a sword that isn't there – but soon sees he doesn't need it anyway.

"Well, looks like our Princess is a little lost."

Arthur doesn't blink, walking with as much of his lost dignity and resolve as he can muster despite the state of his leg towards his friend. His knight.

"Is... That blood? Arthur, what happened?!" Gwaine demands, suddenly on edge. "And where is Gwen and Merlin?"

Arthur rolls his shoulders, eyes hard as he stretches his limbs. He's let his weakness out for long enough, and his talk with Morgana is a slap to the face. This isn't time for emotion, or dwelling on her words. It's a time for action – and if Merlin is actually alive, then all the more reason to move _now_.

"Gwen is fine. Merlin isn't. Did you see a shack on the way here?"

"Well... yeah, but I thought nothing of it," Gwaine frowns. The only light is still the odd flake of moonlight illuminating the ground at random spots.

"Where?"

"If I remember correctly, it's... that way." Gwaine points vaguely behind Arthur.

Arthur scowls.

"You better be right."

Arthur makes to move, when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Arthur – you need to bind your leg first," Gwaine points out, eyeing the wound with concern. Arthur pulls away.

"I'm fine. Get moving."

With a frown, Gwaine follows his King. Just what state is Merlin in?

_You better prove him right Pendragon. Gods help you, prove him right._

_oOo_oOo_

Jam: Really did not expect Arthur's freak-out to last so long.

Anyway, not long left! Looks like Arthur is FINALLY going to go and bro-fistbump Merlin. Okay maybe not as the guy is at death's door and Arthur's leg is probably gunna fall off soon or something, but y'know. Super-Arthur Powers Activate?

Thank you so much for reading so far :) your feedback means an awful lot to me (I really mean it) and as I've said before, if you want a personal thankyou or a question answered, just ask :)


	9. Chapter 9

Merlin is not going to survive much longer.

Gwen is scared. She's fucking terrified. Merlin's died twice in the same day, and she doesn't think that the third time will prove particularly lucky. Arthur has disappeared, gone, and she hoped like hell that he would come back quickly. Her initial hope about his return is depleting fast.

She has no horse, and there's no way she can carry Merlin all the way back to Camelot. He's not likely to make the journey as it is. Gwen doesn't dare leave his side to search for help either, fearful Merlin's breath will stop for the final time the moment she leaves. She's not even sure she would be able to find him again, even if she did find help. It's as if she's been placed under a curse – the moment she takes her eyes of Merlin, his life will slip away between her fingers. It sounds ridiculous, and yet in her paranoid and panicked state she's willing to give the thought reason.

Gwen is completely at a loss. There isn't a thing she can think of to help her friend – she feels so damn helpless it hurts. All that training, that learning – and yet she has no idea what to do in this situation. Part of her unconsciously decides to take some more detailed lessons of medical care from Gaius – yet more things for her to learn, but she's willing to do so. She doesn't want to ever feel this helpless again.

She finally decides there's only one thing she can do.

Scream.

Be it Arthur or bandits – she's willing to risk it, because she is not going to lose Merlin again. Not a chance in hell.

It's not long before her throat is red raw. Her chest feels as though it's on fire, and her tongue as if it's been sucked dry. She doesn't care – she just continues to scream. Her lungs are begging for oxygen, and she crouches low over Merlin like a protective mother over her child. The scream goes on and on, lasting well towards a full minute.

Merlin himself hasn't budged or even opened his eyes. The only telltale sign of his heart still beating is the slight movement of his lips (though his words dried up not too long ago) and the slight movement of his chest.

Gwen's scream suddenly chokes. She's gasping for air now, having left it a little too long, but she doesn't pause for long before trying again to scream.

The second time is a lot shorter, though just as loud. Her ears actually hurt from her own sound, which echoes strongly off the trees surrounding her and the shack. Someone has to have heard her – _anyone_. But she hopes mostly for Arthur, because if she loses this chance to save Merlin she will _never_ forgive herself.

After taking in more oxygen, Gwen opens her mouth a third time – but hardly a squeak comes out. Confused, she tries again, only to be rewarded with a harsh sting deep in her throat.

"No!" Gwen's voice only comes out as a horrified whisper. She tries again and again to scream for help, only to make her own throat and chest feel more and more like they are aflame.

So... that's it. She's out of options. Soon, far too soon, she'll be out of time too. She looks down at Merlin. No tears, and yet her eyes are as sore as her throat. So this is what it feels like – to have lost all hope. To _lose_.

She curls up by Merlin's side, lying down on the cool ground. Her eyes are empty, completely lost for ideas. She's not even sure Merlin will survive though the next hour, never mind the night. She's shivering, though not from any chill in the air. Merlin's chest is all she can look at – every time it goes up, and down, and up, and down, it's a sheer blessing.

"I'm so sorry, Merlin," she whispers, voice raw, trying not to let her words catch. "I... I can't help you. I don't... I can't... I just don't know what to do!"

"... EN! _GWEN_!"

Gwen sits up, alert. She can hear the sound of heavy feet running towards her, and more than one set at that.

_Arthur._

Gwen is on her feet in moments. She can see shadows now – two people coming towards her though the darkness of the trees. Taking one last look towards Merlin, she focuses on who she's positive is her husband.

"_Gwen_!" Arthur shouts, proving Gwen correct. He bursts through the trees and into the small open circle where Gwen and Merlin reside. The shack lies forgotten behind them. "Are you okay? I heard you –"

Stopping in front of his wife, Arthur is completely unprepared for the blunt strike to his cheek from Gwen herself. He reels backwards, shocked. Gwen looks absolutely furious, panting heavily as she finally let her tears fall.

"You bastard," she whispers, throat still too raw to speak. The second shadow finally catches up to Arthur – _Gwaine_.

"My Queen! ... Smashing shot by the way."

Gwen ignores Gwaine, looking Arthur straight in the eye with a fury she never thought she would need to direct at her own husband.

_"Save him."_

Despite the quiet volume of her words, Arthur hears her loud and clear.

Gwaine has only just now noticed Merlin lying down on the ground, motionless and silent. He sucks in a breath, eyes wide.

"Gods, no... Is he..."

"Gwaine," Arthur interrupts, his calm strong voice completely betraying the horror in his eyes. Morgana was right – Arthur can see Merlin's chest moving in tiny, miniscule movements. Arthur would jump for joy, but there's no way in hell Merlin is going to live much longer. He's going to lose him again...

They need to return to Camelot.

"Go find the rest of your group. I want horses. _Now_!"

Gwaine jolts to the order, before nodding and darting his way back beyond the trees. Despite the dark, Arthur can only hope Gwaine manages to find help quickly.

Gwen is looking at Arthur with hard eyes, and it takes him a moment to realize she's waiting for him to give her an order.

"Gwen..." he starts.

"Tell me what to do, Arthur," she says, slowly and precisely. "_Please_."

Arthur sighs, rubbing the back of his head.

"There... isn't much we can do."

A sudden fire in her eyes, Gwen steps forward, fists bunched up.

"You're lying! You're King, you have to know! You –"

"Damn it Guinevere, I'm not a miracle worker! I'm not a physician, either!" Arthur snaps, finally letting himself get angry. "I'm a King, yes, but you're a Queen! You should know more than anyone that we're hardly Gods! Now, snap out of it!"

Gwen looks as though she's been slapped, but steps down anyway. She knows Arthur is correct, knows that Merlin just might not be saved – but she's not going to give up on him now. Not that Arthur is here, and that her hope is back.

Rubbing his cheek, Arthur kneels down by Merlin, ignoring the pain in his leg. A thin wavering smile stretches across his face as he looks down on the unconscious man.

"You keep on surprising me, Merlin," he whispers softly. His voice catches on his manservant's name, forcing him to bite his lip. He needs to be in control, especially now of all times.

"I know you hate orders," Arthur continues quietly, his words for Merlin and Merlin alone, "But right now, I order you to stay alive. I'm not... Not going to lose you. Not again."

Merlin's lips, which still move despite being unconscious, pause. Arthur frowns, leaning closer in to the servant.

"... Prat."

The voice is almost inaudible, but to Arthur it's perfectly clear. Shocked, he sits back and takes Merlin in – the man is definitely not awake and coherent, but still...

A large grin spreads across Arthur's face as he rubs the back of his hand against his _definitely_ not wet eyes.

"I suppose you're right."

Gwen stands a good few paces behind Arthur, letting him talk to Merlin in his own privacy. No matter hopeless the situation is now, she refuses to let herself believe Arthur is giving him a final goodbye. He's just talking, and that's all.

Ears perking up, Gwen finally hears the tell-tale pounding of hoofs on the ground. _Horses_!

"Arthur!" Gwaine bellows, storming into the small clearing mere seconds later. His men had brought only five horses out on their search, but that is more than enough right now. Arthur quickly stands up, marching towards Gwaine as the knight jumps off his horse.

"We were lucky," Gwaine quickly explains as the other four horses gallop in, one of which ridden by Percival. "Percy here got worried after I bolted and was looking for me. I found him not far from here."

Arthur simply nods. "Thank the Gods for small miracles."

Percival is by Arthur's side in an instant, not bothering with greetings.

"Sire, quickest way to Camelot from here is... _Sire!_"

Arthur is hit by a wave of pain and dizziness, his vision briefly going blank. Percival quickly darts forward, grabbing Arthur from under his armpit as the man lurches to the ground. Arthur struggles out of Percival's grip, waving him away.

"... Fine, I'm fine," he mutters, standing himself up with difficulty.

"I told you to bind your leg," Gwaine frowns. "Ride with Percival. I will ride with Merlin, and Gwen may ride with..."

"I will ride on my own, if that is okay."

Gwaine simply nods. "Rell! Give the Queen your horse! Those left behind, set up camp and return at sunrise!"

"Yes sir!"

Arthur glares at Gwaine. "I will ride with Merlin," he growls. Gwaine only shakes his head.

"There's no time for arguments Sire – we need to get Merlin back as soon as possible," Percival states.

Giving up, Arthur simply nods. They're right - Merlin's safety is top priority right now. Percival helps Arthur up onto his horse as two other guards lift Merlin up in front of Gwaine.

"Follow my lead, my Queen!" Percival calls, quickly looking over his shoulder to check Gwen is behind him. She nods briefly.

"Go already, we'll be right behind!" Gwaine shouts. Ordering his horse to move, Percival gallops off closely followed by Gwaine, Gwen and the two other guard riders.

Gwaine holds Merlin tightly with one arm, frowning at the marks he can briefly glimpse on his friend's neck under the fleeting moonlight. Merlin's breathing is barely noticeable – Gaius needs to see him soon, and even Gwaine has his doubts that the old physician can do much. The man is as cold as death itself...

"What in the world happened to you, Merlin," Gwaine whispers, a pang of anger in his chest. "You better stay alive, or I'll kick your ass into next week."

Quickly shutting up, Gwaine focuses on following Percival's lead. Up front, Arthur is sat directly behind Percival on the horse. The King keeps looking behind him, glimpsing the shadow of his servant sitting limply against Gwaine's chest.

"You better stay alive, Merlin."__

_oOo_oOo_

If Gaius wrings his hands one more time, Leon is sure the old man's hands will come right off.

"Still nothing?"

"No, I'm sorry Gaius. Gwaine and Percival are both out right now; I'm sure Merlin will be found. Perhaps he is found already, and they've seen the need to camp overnight before coming home?"

Letting out a bone-deep sigh, Gaius stands up to pace around his quarters. Leon is actually becoming tired just watching the old man fret.

"Will you not sleep? Worrying away will not change a thing."

Gaius pauses, before looking to his cot. He shakes his head slowly, rolling his shoulders afterwards.

"I cannot. Merlin is out there no doubt having done, or currently in the process of doing, something dangerous. I'm not sure my old heart can keep putting up with this, I swear..."

Leon internally groans, getting ready to leave the chambers and yet again check for any news. Anything at all, just to calm the old man down.

Just as Leon is about to open the door, the slab of wood smashes open, almost knocking the knight out in the process.

A stableboy, panting away, quickly straightens himself up.

"The King has returned! Ready the cots for the injured!"

Before Gaius can begin to question, the stableboy is gone. Leon runs after him to help where he can, as Gaius readies any emergency supplies and equipment he may need.

Two minutes later, his doors burst open again.

Gwaine and Leon help a badly limping Arthur to a bed, but not before Percival carries the unconscious body of Merlin into the room, laying the man on one of the closest free cots.

Gaius swears under his breath. "What happened?" he demands quickly, grabbing a jar of salve, a needle and thread and some bandages. Gwen, who has followed the men into the room, is the one to reply to Gaius's question.

"Morgana. She tortured him, though the full extent of his injuries is unknown."

Gaius looks over Merlin evenly, trying to pinpoint any main problems or wounds. He sees nothing but external injuries – some bad, but none enough to pale Merlin's skin in such a way.

Gaius decides it will be best to treat what he can see first.

"Guinevere, if you please. You know better than anyone here – clean up Arthur's leg and tell me the damage. Gwaine, I need a bucket of water. Everyone else, please leave."

There's no argument. Gaius is respected and trusted as both physician and as a friend of everyone there. The old man ignores the feeling of dread as he looks down upon his hardly-breathing ward, instead cutting though Merlin's shirt to search the man for more injuries. He also checks Merlin's head for bleeding and cuts – there is a good number of injuries on both his face and scalp; it worries Gaius deeply.

The moment Gwaine arrives with the water, Gaius properly begins his treatment of Merlin. Merlin's hand proves to be a challenge – dirt and blood have to be scrubbed from the pads of flesh where his fingernails once lay. Gaius shudders at the aftermath of such a violent act, suppressing his anger as well as he can.

"Arthur's wound isn't too deep. I've cleaned it – I'll have to sew it up though."

Gaius only grunts in response, focusing only on Merlin. He's confident that Gwen knows what she's doing. Once Merlin's hand is wrapped, and the wounds on his head are cleaned and stitched where needed, Gaius looks over his ward's body one more time.

... _There__.  
_

_Right in the centre of Merlin's chest is what looks like a small amount of purple freckles. It takes a good minute for Gaius to remember just what that means, his old brain working one-hundred miles an hour in pure desperation._

Animus Flos_ – __Soul flower._

He had once read on it, finding the spell mildly interesting at the time. Gaius can hardly remember the book now – most of what he had read he has forgotten. What he _does__ remember is the flower's effects – soul transferral._

Gaius frowns. Merlin must have his soul right now – so why is he in such a condition?

Then it hits him – another memory of the text. A small one, but important none the less.

The flower slowly drains magic whilst alive.

Gaius, surprisingly enough, lets out a cheer. A simple, quick spell to temporarily 'recharge' Merlin's magic, and the boy will have just enough to start healing himself. To start recovery.

Gaius then pauses. Gwen and Arthur, having heard Gaius's cheer, are now looking at him in absolute hope. Their eyes are locked on the physician. On Merlin.

Gaius has to perform magic right in front of them, right now... Or watch Merlin die.

Gaius lets out yet another old sigh. Like he would even entertain such a decision, when there is only one answer.

The words leave the old man's lips low and heavy. Merlin's last hope for survival; Gaius can only hope he isn't too late.

oOo_oOo

_Jam: I uploaded this soooo many times, but the text kept mucking up!_


	10. Chapter 10

Gaius can only be thankful that the needed spell comes so easily to him. He isn't anywhere near as strong as he used to be when it comes to magic, especially so with the fact he cannot practice anywhere near as much as he'd like. The short spell is a simple one though; condensed magic with no particular purpose other than finding itself a vessel. It seeps into Merlin's skin with ease.

Gwaine, thankfully, left five minutes previously to check on the castle. Gaius doesn't look at Gwen or Arthur – doesn't even acknowledge them. Instead he stares intently at Merlin for a sign. Anything at all...

_Come on, my boy..._

Merlin's breath comes out as a long and seemingly final sigh. At first, Gaius is terrified that the spell hadn't worked, that Merlin will never wake again... but Merlin quickly proves the physician otherwise as he sucks another long breath in. His breathing then quickly stabilizes, his chest rising and falling far more noticeably to an even rhythm. More than that though, a tiny scattering of colour comes back to Merlin's pale skin – a wonderfully healthy pink tinge to his previously-porcelain bruise spotted cheeks.

Gaius lets out a long, relieved sigh, before gently ruffling his ward's hair.

"You'll be the end of me, I swear..."

Letting his fond smile slip, Gaius then turns around to look at his King and Queen. He decidedly shows no remorse on his expression, nor fear or anxiety. Uther never did tell Arthur that Gaius once practiced magic – the look on Arthur's face proves it. Gwen, surprisingly enough, doesn't even look at Gaius. Instead, she's gone back to tending to Arthur's leg with a noticeable tightness in her movements.

"You..." Arthur starts. He looks lost for a moment so brief that Gaius is unsure he even saw it. Then Arthur's face moulds into an expression far older than his young age. "Good work, Gaius."

And that's all there is to say. Arthur doesn't feel betrayed, but he doesn't feel relieved for the knowledge either – he just feels... sad. Sad, because Arthur already knew there are good people who practice magic. Sad because he can't change the laws just yet. Sad because it just isn't safe.

Is anything these days?

He can't change the law just yet... But he can bend the rules. In the past three months, only two magic-practisers were executed – and not without fair trial first. Others were simply sent away – it was the most Arthur could do.

Bit by bit, Arthur is going to make magic more acceptable. It's just... going to take a while.

"How is he?" Gwen asks gently without looking up. She's no longer holding herself as stiffly as before, Arthur's simple acceptance earning him a warm smile. Gaius – who has been looking aptly surprised since Arthur's brief statement – turns back to Merlin.

"He... looks far better than he did before. I've wrapped his wounds, now all we must wait for is for him to wake up."

Arthur has no interest in asking what spell Gaius used. He doesn't want to think into it more than he has to, and certainly has no plans to banish his old friend. What happens in this room, _stays_ in this room. Gwen stands up abruptly, surprising Arthur from his blank state.

"I've wrapped your leg up."

Arthur looks down, confused. "So you have. That was... fast."

Gwen only sighs, before sitting by Arthur's side on the bed. Her throat is still raw; she prefers to use it as little as possible right now. Gaius looks over Merlin one last time before walking over to his shelves, picking up an ornate, small orange glass bottle. He hands it to Gwen with a frown.

"Your throat is still bad I've noticed. Drink this all, but keep it at the back of your mouth for as long as you can," he instructs. Looking up, Gwen gives a brief smile to the physician – it only causes Gaius to frown more. "Guinevere... you've a cut on your jaw."

Gwen's hand shoots up to touch the jagged line on her face. "Oh... I didn't notice."

Gaius sighs, before pulling a chair up to sit in front of the bed both Arthur and Gwen sit on (Arthur had refused to lie down, so now the royals sit up close side-by-side as Arthur lets his leg stretch over a pillow.) He then motions Gwen to look up to the ceiling.

"What happened out there?" Gaius asks quietly, as he dabs at Gwen's cut with a damp cloth. Arthur looks exhausted, and Gwen no better. "And what happened to Morgana?"

Arthur lets out a long sigh. "She's not dead, Gaius."

Gwen tries to nod along, but Gaius is now busily applying salve to her jaw. "She... I think she _let_ us escape," she mutters.

Gaius freezes briefly. "She let you escape?"

"I don't know why," Arthur explains. "But she did. Something happened in that shack, and I have a suspicion that Merlin may be in the middle of it all."

Gaius stifles a groan, looking back at his ward still unconscious in his bed. "Why am I not surprised?"

Finishing up with Gwen's wound, Gaius hears a lone snore from outside the room. With a frown, the elderly physician walks up to his chamber door and looks outside. Surely enough, there all of Arthur's knights are slouched, most of them sleeping given the late hour and the stress they'd endured.

Gwaine is the only Knight awake as he sits against the wall, conveniently ignoring the large heavy body of Percival asleep and leaning against his side.

Gwaine meets Gaius's eyes right away. He's about to budge Percival's weight aside so he can stand up, but Gaius raises a hand to stop him.

"How is he?" Gwaine asks quietly, sinking back to his position on the floor. "The King and Queen, too?"

Before answering, Gaius takes a moment to look at the state of the hallway. The sight of Arthur's guards all completely unconscious as they wait for news is something both humorous and incredible.

_Camelot has changed so much now Arthur is King..._

"Everyone is fine, Gwaine. We're just waiting for Merlin to wake up. You know, I'm pretty sure your chambers will be far more comfortable than out here," Gaius comments, eyebrow raised. At this, Gwaine only grins.

"The floor is more cosy than it looks. Though between you and me, Percival could probably do with losing some muscle..."

Gaius takes his turn to grin at that. "So this is what Camelot has to rely on," he chuckles. "I'll bring some spare blankets out in a bit."

Closing the door, Gaius makes his way back to Arthur.

"Who was outside?" the King asks.

"It seems it's your entire collection of knights," Gaius comments. Arthur shares a bemused look with Gwen, before offering a shrug.

"Contrary to belief, they still aren't getting a raise."

Gaius offers a genuine if not tired laugh. "I should tend to Merlin now. I'll stick with him all night – I think it would be best if you two return to your chambers. You _do_ have a Kingdom to run."

Arthur looks ready to argue, when Gwen tugs lightly on his shoulder.

"We'll be fine here, Gaius," she smiles. "Though, I don't suppose Merlin would mind if we use his chambers for the night?"

Gaius looks down at his ward, before letting go of a sigh.

"Somehow, I recon he wouldn't mind at all. I'll be keeping him out here anyway, just until I'm confident he can be moved."

Gwen stands up, teetering a little as she realizes her left leg has fallen asleep. Arthur is by her side in an instant to steady her, grinding his teeth past the pain in his own leg.

"Ah, Arthur – Here, lean on my shoulder," Gwen orders as she regains feeling in her leg. Seeing no other option, Arthur complies. Leading him to Merlin's chambers, Gwen then helps Arthur sit down on Merlin's bed before heading to the door.

"Thank you Gaius," Gwen starts. "For everything."

Gaius nods, a smile on his lips. "Get some sleep, my Queen."

Gwen closes the door with a soft thud, her last gaze lying on Merlin as the wood separates her from her friend. With a long breath, she then turns around to face Arthur.

He sits on the bed, looking directly at her with an odd determination in his gaze.

"Arthur, you should get some -"

Arthur stands up slowly, forcing his patched-up leg to walk him towards Gwen. Gwen herself looks horrified.

"Your leg! Arthur, sit down already!"

Ignoring her, Arthur takes the last step to stand before Gwen. A strange look pans over his face – one Gwen simply cannot read, before he slowly gets down on one knee before her.

"Ar –"

"_Guinevere_," Arthur interrupts. He looks only at the floor as he forces himself to stay in his knelt position. He ignores the pain, though cannot help the steady grimace spreading over his face.

"I am truly sorry about my actions today," he continues quietly. "I left you alone because of my own stupidity. If it wasn't for you, Merlin... Merlin would be dead. There's no argument about it."

A silence infects the room, brief but meaningful as Gwen takes in the heart-breaking look of her repentant husband. Quickly, she crouches down to help him up, forcing him to look into her eyes as he leads him back to Merlin's bed.

"Get some sleep, Arthur," is all she can manage as she pushes on his shoulders to lie him down, before lying down herself next to him. She wraps her arms around him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"He better be alright..." Arthur mutters, letting his eyelids droop. Gwen thinks to respond with hopeful optimism, before shaking her head.

"I hope so too. I really do."

Oo-oo-oO

The screams start exactly ten minutes after the sun has risen.

_Someone help me!_

Merlin did not return to consciousness gradually, nor in a blissful silence.

_Please, anybody, get us out of here!_

His tormented cries split though the quiet snores of the physician's chambers as a knife would to bread, waking Gaius up in an instant.

_You monster! Uther Pendragon, I swear I will be your end!_

"Merlin! Merlin calm down!" Gaius pleads desperately, shaking Merlin's shoulders as the young warlock writhes and screams and just... breaks.

_Just when... did my name become a curse?_

Arthur nearly falls over himself as he and Gwen race from Merlin's chambers to Merlin's bedside. The guards at some point had also filed in, swords drawn, only to see there was nothing to attack.

No way to help their friend.

"MERLIN!"

It's Arthur's voice that rings the loudest and snaps Merlin from his episode. Arthur's face is contorted in worry for Merlin, and pain from his own leg. Merlin on the other hand has stopped screaming, and now just looks on at nothing in particular, blank and lost.

The thick tears rolling down his cheeks are the only clue to his distress now.

"I'd like everyone to leave, please," Gaius requests, voice low. He's already pushing Merlin to lie down comfortably, rearranging his blankets. Gwaine, who was one of the first guards in the room, looks ready to argue. One look from Gaius kills the idea before it leaves his mouth.

Everyone, strangely enough, then looks to Arthur. As if he had some answer, some key to a complex puzzle. He has to stop himself from swearing. At this moment, he doesn't want to be King. He doesn't _want_ to be the responsible one, the one who has to run an entire Kingdom.

He wants to be Arthur, Merlin's worried best friend. But he can't be. Gwen can't be, and the Knights can't be either. Not right now – not when the time suits them.

Merlin is alive, and right now that's all that matters.

Arthur takes one last look at Merlin. A vacant look has washed over his manservant's eyes as the man looks to nothing but the ceiling – it's a sorry sight if Arthur has ever seen one. Gwen, standing by Arthur's side, squeezes his hand with her own.

"Gaius will take care of him, she whispers in his ear. Arthur stiffens, before letting his eyes soften.

"I know."

Arthur quickly takes on his role of King, offering a brief nod to Gaius as he lines his men up and leads them out of Gaius's chambers. The men look worried still, and Gwaine ready to start a fight, but they follow their King out none-the-less, who is supported by his Queen.

They all leave without a word, the door swinging closed shut after them. Gaius at this point has already turned his complete attention back to Merlin.

"Can you hear me?" Gaius asks softly, smoothing back Merlin's hair from his sweat-covered brow. The man is awake, that is for a definite as the manservant looks up to the ceiling. He hasn't moved once though, and doesn't offer any words to Gaius to prove he's coherent.

"Merlin," Gaius tries again, this time more firmly. To Gaius's relief, Merlin switches his gaze to the physician. His eyes are still empty, and the skin on Merlin's face is bruised and sore.

"What happened to you?" Gaius finds himself whispering. His confidence as a physician has been replaced, just like that, with fear. Fear that Merlin, the boy Gaius is unashamed to admit he treats as he would his own son, has finally went though just that bit more than he can handle.

Merlin's mouth hangs slightly open, the words stuck on his tongue. He feels lost, alone and as much as he hates to admit it, _scared_. He awoke with Morgana's memories still fresh in his mind – and now, as the seconds tick by, he can't even properly differentiate which memories are his own.

In the end, Merlin can only sob, his face quickly deteriorating into a general tear-and-snot fuelled mess. And Gaius can only sit there and hold the boy who's been forced to grow up so fast, because some wounds Gaius just doesn't have salve for.

Oo-oo-Oo

It takes most of the day for Arthur to finish up his duties. The King's Counsel of course wanted a full report of Morgana's actions, as well as a follow-up plan of action (Arthur wasn't sure how he'd bluffed his way though that all, seeing as his mind for once was somewhere completely different.) Mid afternoon, Arthur had issued a brief speech to the people of Camelot about his and Gwen's disappearance (the truth was bent an awful lot, as to not cause panic) and at some point Gwen herself had fetched Arthur a make-shift walking stick. Afterwards, Arthur had requested Gwen go and get some rest. He would wake her if Merlin had made an improvement, he promised.

Now, two hours after the sun had set, Arthur finds himself frowning at the closed door leading into Gaius's chambers. Is Merlin still... in such a state? Is he asleep? If he is, should Arthur risk waking him?

It's only now that Arthur can briefly discard the crown that permanently weighs him down, and take his title of Just Arthur. And right now, that title terrifies him – can he really see Merlin like this?

It's then that the door opens, taking all notion of decision from Arthur's hands. He comes face to face with an exhausted looking Gaius. Instead of seeming surprised, the physician smiles warmly, looking almost relieved.

"Thank goodness, Si... _Arthur_."

"What is the matter, Gaius?" Arthur asks, worried. "Merlin's alright, isn't he?"

Gaius rolls his shoulders uncomfortably. "He... With time, hopefully."

Arthur frowns at Gaius's vague statement. The old man still stands in the doorway, blocking Arthur's view of the inside. _Of Merlin_.

"Has he said anything?"

Gaius looks even more uncomfortable at this, before letting out a bone-deep sigh. "He's been though a lot, Arthur. I can only request that, as his _friend_, you can find some time to sit by his side."

Arthur for a brief moment looks stricken. But, the moment is gone as soon as it crops up, and a new, _admirable_ determination plants itself behind his eyes. Gaius feels a strong respect build up in his chest at the sight.

"What a silly request, Gaius. I'll be at his side for as long as it takes."

Gaius can't help but grin at the strength in Arthur's voice, before stepping to one side.

"I must deliver a salve to one of my regulars... I can trust you will take care of Merlin until I return?"

"I'm surprised you even ask," Arthur responds bluntly, stepping past the physician. Gaius stifles a chuckle, before forcing his tired old limbs to walk away from his chambers.

"I'll be back soon," he says, closing the door behind Arthur.

The first thing Arthur notices isn't Merlin, but instead the sheer mayhem of Gaius's quarters. Bandages, spilled water and knocked-over bottles from the previous night stain the floor, and Arthur resolves to have a small handful of servants come to clean up the mess. Gaius has enough on his plate as it is.

Tearing his eyes away from the mess, Arthur lets his gaze fall on Merlin's bed. Surprisingly enough, there his manservant sits, eyes on Arthur. He doesn't look as vacant as he did that morning, instead there's a strange strength Arthur doesn't recall ever seeing before in the way Merlin holds himself. There's a puffiness to his eyes where the man had been crying, but other than that, Merlin doesn't look lost.

He looks... different, though. Older. For a moment Arthur freezes – this look doesn't suit Merlin at all, there is no joy in his eyes. Arthur forces himself to talk anyway, under Merlin's silent stare.

"Well. Um, I... See you're looking better?" Arthur offers. Merlin says nothing for a good while, as if thinking up a response. Arthur opens his mouth again, unsure what to say to the man, when Merlin finally does something.

He lets out a wobbly smile.

"Yeah. I guess I am."

At this, those five simple words, Arthur finds himself marching forward. Merlin looks a little surprised, his facial-features looking so much more _Merlin_ than they had in the past two days, but before he can question, Arthur has stretched his arms and embraced his manservant tightly.

"Ar – "

"_You_ _make me bloody worry like that again, and I'll kill you myself_."

Merlin pauses, before letting himself properly smile into his friend's chest. It's a sad, but a warm one. Returning Arthur's embrace, Merlin pushes Morgana's sour memories, just for a small moment, to the back of his mind.

Morgana may have all of Merlin's memories now, but this one is _his_, and his alone.

"Prat."

Oo-oo-Oo

_Jam: I really hope the ending to this fic is satisfactory! Thank you guys so damn much for your support, it really means a lot to me. I know I've left a few open points in the fic, it's merely because I may or may not write a sequel to this. If I do, it will be after the fic I'm currently writing called Mental, which is ArthurxMerlin. (I have the first chapter up already if you're interested)_

Anyway, thank you again so much, I really enjoyed writing this :)


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